


Parasomnia

by Charlie_M



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, But here it is, Creepy shit, F/M, Light Bondage, Mentions of Emotional Abuse, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Swearing, Vaginal Sex, hi yes welcome to hell, i really need to stop writing OC fics, mentions of physical abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-02-10 20:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12919845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie_M/pseuds/Charlie_M
Summary: Alice has a little sleep problem.Alice also has really bad timing. She happens to be in Beacon when a certain sadist springs his trap...and he's got a job for her. Well, at least he's attractive. And she's got Leslie for company.Now it's a fucking party. RIP in pieces, Alice.





	1. Hi Yes Welcome to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> So...I got into TEW right before TEW2 was announced at E3. I wrote this before the sequel came out. Has an ending, the last few chapters just need editing. I'm debating the two epilogues I wrote.
> 
> One day. One day I'll right some Ruseb or Joseb or or maybe even Stefseb (or whatever Stefano/Sebastian is called). Today wasn't that day.
> 
> As always, enjoy.

_The searing tear of flesh. Wet squelching noises. Sticky pools of blood and gasoline. Endless halls. Flickering lights. Doors. Bodies. So many bodies._

_Run…she has to run. Run. Run! RUN!_

 

Alice jolts awake. It’s her alarm screaming, not a person. She groans and rolls over, squinting at her phone screen. From her cocoon of blankets, she sacrifices an arm to the chilly bedroom air. Something in her shoulder twinges, knotted muscles protesting movement. Clumsy fingers knock the device off the nightstand and she pauses to collect herself with a sigh.

Bracing herself, Alice leans over the side of the bed (so far, so good) and retrieves her phone (success!). It’s as she’s retreating that the pain flares. All the muscles in her back spasm, cramp, and all but curse her out as she flops back. Another groan, a wince that reminds her of the cut in her lip.

Since verbalization is a no-go before her first cup of coffee, she sends a text to Kendra instead.

_You’re an asshole and I’m in pain. Never helping you again_ , it says.

It’s as she’s peeling herself out of bed ten minutes later that she receives a response.

_Liar. I’ll bring you something caffeinated to make up for last night_.

Alice snorts, shoots back something along the lines of “you better” and stumbles for the bathroom. Apart from manageable soreness (and lots of bruises) her legs are in much better shape than her torso. After reaching the bathroom, she avoids the mirror for as long as she can, going about her business like usual.

Inevitably, though, she has to survey the damage after a whole night for the bruises to form. Even prepared, Alice flinches at her own reflection. The swelling in her lip has gone down, but there’s still a thick red line where it was split. Her knuckles her scraped, her arms and wrists are painted with bruises. When she tugs her shirt over her head, there’s some less-dramatic mottling on her ribs as well.

As bad as she looks, she feels even worse. All the invisible injuries are not to be forgotten and they’re all voicing complaints. The shoulder she dislocated at sixteen is particularly loud today, having been strained once again (when her arm was twisted behind her back). Having pitied herself enough, Alice trudges into the bedroom and shivers as she yanks on her clothes.

Dressed, but still cold, she wanders into the kitchen. Past the tiny cactus living on the kitchen windowsill, the sky is murky. Alice grimaces, fiddling with the collar of her white button-up. She hates when it rains the days she goes to Beacon. It’s too cliché for her tastes.

Grunting, she sits at the table and focuses on choking down half a muffin. Though nightmares are nothing new to her (parasomnia, the doctors said) their frequency has decreased with age. When they do occur, even now, they leave her mouth dry and stomach uneasy. Especially as disturbing as the last several have been.

Kendra doesn’t know (doesn’t _need_ to know) and Alice is glad the sleep paralysis keeps her from making noise most nights it happens. At least she doesn’t have to make up an excuse for why she looks like shit today.

_Speaking of my flat-mate…_

The door bangs open with all of Kendra’s usual flare and cursing. Alice doesn’t move from her seat, leaning her cheek in her hand as she waits. Kendra storms in a moment later, balancing pastry bags and a to-go carton full of coffee cups in her arms.

“I bear gifts of apology-coffee!” she declares.

Alice arches an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as Kendra all but dumps the load in front of her. The logo on the side of the cups is from their favorite café—the one where the baristas know their orders by heart. She picks up the giant one with her name on the side and begins chugging.

“I have to go to Beacon today and I feel like shit,” Alice grumps, three gulps later.

Kendra’s eyebrows shoot into her hairline as she plops down in the seat next to Alice.

“Shit, again? Why didn’t you just stay home last night, then?” she asks.

Alice narrows her eyes and takes a long slow sip before replying.

“‘I’ll probably die tonight, Al, so if I’m not back by midnight, tell the cops it was Harrison Cross.’ How was I supposed to let you go off alone?”

Kendra has the grace to look sheepish. It helps that she’s sporting a nasty shiner the size of a baseball, and she knows it. As a private investigator extraordinaire, she knows when to press the advantage.

“I’m a PI, all I’m missing is the A,” she says.

“A professional Pain In the Ass,” Alice agrees.

For all Alice grumbles and whines, this isn’t the first time she’s helped Kendra on a case, and it won’t be the last. Even though Kendra is a muscular 5’8” woman who takes no shit, there’s only so much she can do alone. Enter Alice, her flat-mate and best friend, who stands at a less-impressive 5’5” but makes it up in resourcefulness and…enthusiasm.

“Can you take the day off?” Kendra asks.

Alice shakes her head and picks at the heat sleeve around her cup.

“Too late for that. Even if it wasn’t, I doubt anyone would be willing to cover for me.”

Most of the staff for the medical supply company she works for hate Beacon Mental Hospital. It’s not like they’re strangers to asylums—in fact, they get the most training in going to those places—but Beacon is different. It’s creepy and easy to get turned around, and Doctor Marcelo Jimenez is a douchebag with an ego the size of Texas. Alice (being Alice) is actually decent at navigating all the pitfalls at Beacon that make everyone else pale.

Doesn’t mean she likes it though.

“Jesus, what’s with Beacon, anyway? I’ve heard some sketchy stuff happens at that place,” Kendra says.

“I’ve heard it too. Big scandal a few years back, too.”

Alice watches her over the top of her coffee cup, leaning back to give her tired muscles a break. Kendra is busily tearing into her food, which means she’s stalling and Alice is going to want to kill her soon.

“Patients going missing, usually ones without family…”

Alice goes very still and narrows her eyes. Kendra mimics her, brown eyes wide with faux-innocence.

“You have a case at Beacon.” It’s not a question.

Kendra slumps a little and nods. Alice exhales a heated puff of air, but gestures for an explanation.

“Long lost daughter wanted to try to meet her dad. Turns out he just went missing one day. No paperwork explaining it either. The staff just kind of shrugged it off. The client talked to the cops but…they don’t seem interested.”

Alice inhales and lets it out in a big rush.

Beacon is such a big place…she’s not surprised, even if there’s nothing sinister lurking beneath the surface. That said, there’s a reason people don’t like Beacon. It’s a great facility from the outside, but in all honesty, the place is downright foreboding. And for a hospital that preaches how superior they are, it’s a bit suspicious that a patient disappeared with a trace. As for the cops…well, Krimson City isn’t known for the most upstanding police force.

“What do you want me to do?” Alice asks.

Kendra grimaces and shakes her head. “You could lose your job. HIPPA and all that.”

Alice shakes her head and waves it off, expression determined.

“If something is happening, I want to help. Those people don’t deserve whatever’s happening to them.”

Kendra seems to consider, but Alice doesn’t relent and she finally sighs.

“Just see if you can find this guy’s file. If there’s anything in there. Don’t take anything, and definitely don’t get caught.”

Alice shrugs. Most of the staff, and even the patients, ignore her when she comes in. She’s just a maintenance worker, dropping off medical supplies and fixing machines. It’s not strange to find her wandering around with stacks of boxes that impede her vision. A wrong turn into one of the doctor’s offices is feasible.

“What’s the guy’s name?”

“Roberto Samuels.”

An easy enough name to remember. One that shouldn’t require special spellings or anything that needs to be written down. She can’t be caught with a patient’s name written on a scrap of paper.

“And the doctor taking care of him?”

“Marcelo Jimenez.”

Fuck.

 

Todd takes one look at her when she hops in the van and gets that concerned look. The one she hates. As if she’s an _invalid_. To be fair, she doesn’t always get injured when she’s helping Kendra on cases. In fact, this is the worst shape he’s ever seen her in. His concern is understandable, but she’s walking, isn’t she?

“Jesus, what happened to you, Kincaid?” he asks.

“Bar fight,” she replies, which is true. They were in a bar—well, outside the bar. Near the bar. Down the road. They _started_ at the bar anyway. Close enough. “Some guys were being creeps. Kendra and I weren’t having it.”

“Do I need to bust some skulls?”

His tone indicates that he’s joking, but he’s all but puffing up with male indignation. Alice internally scoffs. As if she needs him protecting her honor or something ridiculous like that.

She shakes her head instead, decides to take the easy road and smooth his feathers.

“Nah, we handled it just fine. I’m okay.”

Though she says it lightly, her tone indicates that the discussion is closed. Todd listens and shuts up, driving them towards the hospital. It’s raining by the time they arrive. Not pouring yet, but she’s not holding out hope that the weather will pass. They park the supply van by the side of the building, where the loading and unloading doors are.

“Ugh, I hate this place and there’s a huge inventory incoming.”

Alice glances at him, trying to appear sympathetic. Big inventory is perfect. It means she’ll be running around and going to different areas of the hospital, because they have to spread their supplies around. No one will ask questions when she “gets lost” and ends up in Jimenez’s office.

“Sorry you got roped into this, Todd,” she replies, “but I can take anything going into the high-risk areas.”

Todd isn’t a bad guy. He’s friendly and good at what he does, always meticulous to check off each item from the supply list. Handsome too, she supposes, though not her type, with dark hair and dark eyes and a thick, muscular physique. The only thing that bothers her is when he says things like—

“Ah, what kind of guy would I be if I let you do that? Especially in your condition.”

She rolls her eyes and unbuckles the seatbelt. Though they’ve never argued about it, he’s the kind that likes to drive everywhere too, which is fine because she hates the company van in city traffic. It also gives her the opportunity to open the doors and get the first of the boxes while he’s busy with the ignition and inventory list.

“You don’t _let_ me do anything, I’m not in any ‘condition’, and I know the building better.”

She hops out before he can reply, frowning at the small puddle she splashes into. Jogging to the back, she yanks the doors open and pulls down the ramp. The knots behind her shoulder blades cramp and her ribs protest, but she doesn’t let it show. Todd arrives just as she’s walking up.

“Right, so what’s first?”

They get the first couple boxes and head in, a couple of nurses there to oversee the incoming supplies. The first floor is the easiest and the quickest, where the supply closets are the largest. As she’s unpacking in one, she hears shuffling behind one of the shelves. Frowning, she rounds the corner, thinking that one of the mental patients followed her in.

As soon as she sees that it was just an unstable stack of boxes, her guard drops. Which is the exact moment someone grabs her.

“Gotcha!”

She yelps, firstly because she’s startled, and secondly because it _hurts_. A pair of arms are circled around her waist, picking her feet up off the ground and putting pressure on her bruised ribs.

The voice registers only as her elbow is swinging back for the assailant’s solar plexus. Todd.

_That asshole!_

It would serve him right if she swung with full power. But she’s been known to break noses with her elbows and she still needs him to help her with the supplies. So she tries to let up as much as she can.

It’s still enough to knock some of the wind out of him. Alice lands flat on her feet, one hand at her aching side. She whips around with an expression to frighten demons.

“Todd! You fucking dick!” she snaps.

“Christ, Alice, you’ve got a lot of power for such a tiny body,” he replies.

She swings and lands a much harder punch to his arm, taking pride in knowing it’ll bruise. The hand rubbing his sternum jerks to his bicep as he grunts in pain.

“And don’t forget it, you troglodyte,” she hisses, “You scared the hell out of me. We’re in a mental hospital, remember?”

He has the grace to appear somewhat ashamed, although it’s probably just to avoid more of her wrath. Ever since she started accompanying Kendra, Alice has been hitting up the gym and their weekly kickboxing classes. She’s got a mean swing.

“For that, you can finish unpacking my supply boxes in here,” she says.

“Oh, come on, Alice! It was just a joke!” he whines.

She shrugs and turns on her heel, striding out of the room with head held high.

“The price you pay for comedy,” she replies.

Her response to his little joke keeps him skirting around her from then on. Alice catches a quick glimpse at the inventory list and volunteers for the ones that put her closest to Jimenez’s office. She’s only passed by it a couple times, but her navigational memory is decent. Todd, despite his posturing, doesn’t protest much.

She takes the elevator up, making sure her vision appears to be blocked by the boxes stacked in her arms. The door is unlocked; all she does is unlatch it with her knee and then slip inside. The load she settles on the edge of his desk, careful not to disturb anything. Arms free, she scans the room.

The walls sport Jimenez’s degrees and accomplishments, which she scans. There are a couple pictures. One in which he’s got an arm around his brother Valerio Jimenez, who runs a hospice in Elk River that Alice’s company supplies. Valerio Jimenez isn’t as bad as his brother, but both of them give her bad vibes.

The desk is neat, with a few scattered papers here and there that she ignores. Much better than Kendra’s desk, which is always littered with notes and files. She focuses her attention on the filing cabinets lining the wall behind his desk. The front of each drawer is labelled with the letters of the patients last names.

Alice skips down to where the “S’s” are and slides the drawer open. She begins picking through the files, but ascertains that “Samuels” isn’t there. Closing the drawer, she sighs, glancing at the other cabinets. Nothing to indicate that it’d be in there. As she swivels around, she notices a small set of unlabeled drawers attached to Jimenez’s desk. Her intuition prickles.

“Oh?” she whispers.

Slipping closer, a tug reveals that they’re locked. Even if they’re not in here, her curiosity is piqued. If his regular patient files aren’t locked up in his office, what _is_?

The key is hidden in a shallower drawer full of office supplies. Once unlocked, the drawer rolls open, revealing a line of manila folders. “Samuels” draws her eyes among the scrambled names.

She slides the folder out and opens it up, skimming through the most recent notes. It’s what she expects, except for a misplaced note in handwriting different from Jimenez’s. “Candidate for STEM” is all it says. Alice wants to look into it more, but she hears the elevator doors open and feels her heart jump.

She slides the file back into place, and just as she’s closing the drawer, another name jumps out at her—Leslie Withers. Now she really wishes she had time to look into it, but she can hear Jimenez talking to one of the nurses. Her time is running out _fast_. She pushes the drawer closed, locks it, replaces the key, and picks her boxes up.

Biting her lip she goes for an added touch, and drops one of them.

“Alice? What are you doing in here?”

She tries to make it look like she’s fumbling as she cranes her neck. Jimenez is glaring at her, suspicion painted across his expression. Now she _really_ wishes she could have snooped through those files more. That looks like more than a doctor worried about his patients’ privacy.

“Sorry, doc, I took a wrong turn. Couldn’t see over the boxes,” she explains.

He huffs, but doesn’t question her further while she picks up the package she dropped.

“The door you’re looking for is one over.”

“Right, thanks!”

Only after she’s unpacked and returned to the ground floor does she sigh with relief. She’ll tell Kendra what she’s found as soon as she’s done at Beacon. It would be a waste to get past Jimenez only to be overheard by a nosy nurse. The rest of the drop-off goes smoothly until they’re almost finished.

“All that’s left are a few boxes and an easy fix to one of the heart monitor machines,” Todd says, “Which do you want, Kincaid?”

Despite her indignation earlier, Alice’s body needs a break. Carrying the boxes stretched some of her muscles, but she’s still sore and exhausted.

“The heart monitor,” she says, grabbing the toolkit from the van.

“Don’t take too long or I’m leaving without you,” Todd says.

“Sure, sure,” she replies, waving him off.

The heart monitor has been left in a small, empty patient’s room with an open window. Alice opens the machine up and gets to work, humming to herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots movement and glances up. A smile lights her face and threatens to split her healing lip when she sees Leslie’s pale, waddling form.

“Hey there, Li-Li,” she says.

The corners of his lips twitch in his version of a smile as he shuffles closer. He looks…worse from the last time she saw him. Those pink marks on his cheeks look bigger and darker, he’s thinner, and his hands look raw from his wringing them. Worry ignites tight and hot in her chest. Not that she lets it show on her face. She’s all smiles and sunshine when Leslie’s around.

“Alice, you’re here…you’re here!” he mumbles.

She nods, pleased that he still remembers her. They met one of her first times delivering to Beacon. He ran into the closet she was unpacking in and curled up in a ball in the corner. Something had upset him and Alice (being Alice) had approached him, hoping to calm him down. There wasn’t much she could do, but what she had done seemed to have left a good note with him.

Most times since then they’ve run into each other when she comes to unload supplies. Leslie doesn’t speak much, but he doesn’t have to, and she listens when he does. Usually he sits with her until one of the nurses or Jimenez finds them, which is why she’s on a first name basis with the doctor in the first place. Still, she always worries that Leslie won’t recognize her the next time she visits.

“Are you doing okay?” she asks.

“Okay…okay…” he replies.

She hums and gestures for him to sit next to her before focusing on her task. Leslie takes the cue, settling next to her and her tool box. They sit in silence for a while, Alice not wanting to overwhelm his senses and Leslie…well, being Leslie and fiddling with an electrometer.

As she turns to get a wire stripper he reaches out, fingertips feathering over her cheek and chin. She blinks, forces herself to stay still. He’s doesn’t often initiate physical contact and she doesn’t want to discourage him.

“Hurt…” he says, upset.

She runs her tongue over her lip before smiling at him. It tugs, but doesn’t open again.

“I’m alright,” she replies, “just an accident from last night.”

“An…accident?”

Jimenez suddenly rounds the corner, all but sweating. If he was Kendra, he’d be cursing up a storm. Leslie’s hand jerks away as the doctor’s eyes land on the two of them. Something flashes in his eyes that makes Alice’s hackles rise before his expression smooths.

“Leslie, how many times must I tell you to let Alice work in peace?” he says.

Alice quirks her mouth and pats Leslie’s knee in reassurance.

“He’s no trouble, doc,” she replies.

He gives her a long look, like he’s sizing her up but she just smiles, all customer-service. Leslie begins humming the same tune she sometimes does. Jimenez’s mouth twitches.

“Yes, well…come along, Leslie. It’s time for your medication.”

Funny, it’s always time for Leslie’s meds when he hangs around her. However, there’s nothing she can do to stop Leslie from clambering to his feet and following Jimenez from the room. He glances at her over his shoulder as he leaves.

“Bye, Alice…” he says.

“Bye, Li-Li. Take care of yourself,” she replies.

No sooner is he out of the room than a high-pitched keen splits the air. She hisses, jerking her hand from the heart monitor and wonders what she could have done to incur its wrath. It feels like her head is about to split in two and by the time it stops, her eyes are watery with pain.

_Is this the aliens? Are they trying to contact me?_

From the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of white, but it’s gone before she can turn her head. Rubbing her temples, she glares at the machine and pokes at the exposed circuitry. When she’s not treated to another mechanical scream symphony, she plunges both hands back in, wanting to finish.

The longer she spends here, the higher her anxiety spikes. Like a switch was flipped and things are suddenly different.

Perhaps it’s just Leslie. She hasn’t forgotten that his file was among those that Roberto Samuels was in. She’s willing to bet anything there’s a note in his regarding this “STEM” thing. Leslie’s a good kid—troubled, but not bad. He deserves a good life, not whatever shady bullshit Jimenez seems to be pulling.

Before she knows it, the heart monitor is flickering to life. She attaches the sensor to her index finger to run a diagnostic. Her heartbeat jumps across the lines, a soft series of notes accompanying each measured spike. A sound from the hall catches her attention, a squelch followed by a gurgle that makes her heart stutter.

Yanking the sensor off, she unfolds from the floor and creeps towards the doorway. When she peers out, she’s expecting her initial, panicky suspicions to be wrong. Like hearing a suspicious thump in the night and assuming it’s a burglar or a ghost. She’s not prepared for an actual body. It’s a nurse, one she doesn’t recognize, lying in an expanding pool of blood.

Alice’s breath catches in her throat. She retreats, swallowing down the sharp noise building in her chest. Screaming or crying is pointless, she reminds herself. Kendra’s always told her to stay quiet and try not to give away her position. Glancing around, she spots a set of double doors across the room.

One of the doors is unlocked and she slips through, into one of the community rec rooms for non-violent cases. Alice sidesteps abandoned blocks and crayons, eyes flicking around and hoping she doesn’t come across another body. She wonders what’s happened. A violent patient? They shouldn’t be on the lower levels and there should have already been an alert.

Sighing, Alice pokes at her own ribs, trying to gauge her ability to defend herself in her current condition. She aches. The idea of any vigorous physical activity sounds terrible, but not as bad as this morning. The pain meds and the movement from unpacking has helped. In a pinch, she can put up a fight but she’d rather avoid it altogether if she can.

Inhaling to brace herself, Alice crosses the room and steals into the next. A puddle splashes beneath her foot with the first couple steps inside and _fuck, bodies._ Her eyes skip about the room, taking in the carnage. _Fuck, a **lot** of bodies._

Too much for a single person. Too much for staff who are trained to restrain violent people.

_Fuck fuck fuck what is going on? No, thank you, sir! I am out of here._

Alice backpedals, but the door snaps shut behind her. She whirls around. Someone is standing behind her. Making a startled noise, she tries to run. Her foot slips in a sticky puddle of blood and _shit, ow that floor is hard and her ass is going to **bruise**_ —but she’s got bigger problems.

The man standing over her is no doctor or nurse—she’d think he’s a patient, if not for how intense his gaze is on her. No one in Beacon looks at anyone like that. Alice is so distracted by his pale eyes that she almost misses the painful burn scars decorating his body.

His eyes flick down to her chest and for a hot minute she’s going to be offended until he says, “Alice, is it?”

Right, her name is embroidered on her shirt. She jerks her head in a nod, regrets it when his head cocks.

_Not a friend._

“He likes you.”

Alice blinks and his face is right in front of hers. He’s crouched down in front of her and _oh my, his pants are open—_

“Jesus!” She scrambles back as his eyes narrow. “Personal space!”

“You’ll be useful.”

_Excuse me?_

“Like hell I will!”

Silver flashes in her vision and then everything goes black.


	2. Intense Murder-Limbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alice is already done with everything, including (especially) Ruvik.

Alice’s eyes snap open, a gasp catching in her throat. The last moments before everything went black reels through her mind like those “previously” sections in TV episodes. The man with the scars…a flash of silver…blood, so much blood.

She scrambles to her feet and finds herself where she left off, except things are different. The wallpaper is shredded, the ceiling chipped and cracked. The tables are overturned, the floor littered with disintegrating papers and dirt. Something organic and fleshy is pulsing on the wall. It’s like Beacon’s gotten the horror-movie treatment.

_At least the bodies are gone._

Small miracles, she supposes. Although it’s difficult to view anything right now as more than a nightmare.

“What the fuck is going on?” she whispers.

She scrapes herself together, dusting herself of grime with distaste. Her white shirt, covered in dirt and dried blood—ugh, it’s going to take a _gallon_ of bleach to get it clean again.

 _Why am I worrying about my shirt of all things_?

It’s something to focus on, at least. Something within her control. Small things to keep her sane while she figures out what the hell she’s going to do.

_Take stock._

She’s in a hospital that somehow, magically, aged fifty years while she was out cold. Speaking of being out cold, she doesn’t know how long that was, but that man could have done anything to her in the meantime. Instead, he…what? Got distracted? Went to lunch? Took a vacation? Point is, he left, and that’s another small miracle. But now she doesn’t know where he is and she’s, like, 80% certain he’s responsible for all the recent murder.

_I should call the cops. And Kendra. And possibly my lawyer for my will._

Alice sticks her hand in her back pocket, where her phone should be. All she gets is a handful of ass.

“Um…”

She pats down again, front to back, as if she could have missed it the first time. Nope. No phone. Alice glances down, scanning the floor for the infernal device, but no such luck.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she whines.

“Looking for something?”

She jumps and whirls around, but this time doesn’t let her surprise get the better of her. The man from before is standing there, her phone held aloft in his hand. If she’s not mistaken, there’s something like a smirk on his face, too.

_He had to reach into my pocket for that. My back pocket. Which means…_

Smug bastard.

“Who are you?” she demands, “What’s going on?”

“That’s not for you to worry about.”

Her mouth drops open, outrage fighting with her natural survival instincts. Because if there’s anything she’s certain about right now, it’s that this man is dangerous. He radiates power and arrogance like a god in his kingdom. It wouldn’t do to go into rant-mode and get herself killed.

“Uh, it kinda is when I’m in the fucking middle of it. What do you want from me?”

When she blinks, he does that _neat_ magic trick where he’s right in front of her again. Alice takes a step back, once again startled, and wary after what happened _last time_. Her pride, though, doesn’t let her put any more space between them.

“I have a purpose for you,” he says, “A purpose you will fulfill if you want to survive.”

Alice’s jaw clamps shut with an audible clack of teeth. Bravado is one thing, but she’s not stupid enough to challenge a threat so sincere it might as well be a promise. Doesn’t mean she has to like it, though. She’s kind of used to being threatened after her escapades with Kendra.

“Again: _what do you want_?” she asks.

The smirk doesn’t drop from his face as the door bursts open behind her. She turns, body in motion before she even sees the hulking _thing_ sprinting at her with a chainsaw.

“Oh, fuck no!”

The man is gone, but that’s probably for the better because at this point she’d make track marks _over_ him. She throws herself into a door and slams it shut behind her. The hallway. This she can work with.

She’s so panicked, she almost doesn’t notice the damn trip wire until she’s walked into it. She jerks back at the last minute and ducks under it, heart thrumming in her ears with each second wasted.

_Like a really intense game of murder-limbo._

She’s just straightened and barely gotten a few steps when the monstrosity tears through the door, yelling and growling. Alice turns and bolts and it runs straight into the wire. The explosion knocks her off her feet; the landing forces the air from her lungs. The fucking _beast_ doesn’t even hesitate, as if it were a mere static shock, and barrels towards her.

The chainsaw swings in a downwards arc and Alice rolls out of the way. It hits the ground, gets caught in the tile. She takes the opportunity to at least _try_ incapacitating him. She slams her knee into its face with as much force as she can, missing the bands of metal encapsulating it by pure _chance_.

That actually seems to stun it and she takes that opportunity, running in the opposite direction. This is also the way to the elevator, not the stairs. She’d been aiming for the stairs originally, because she wasn’t sure if the elevator was working with Beacon in the state it’s in but…

_The lights are working, so maybe the elevator is too?_

Sure enough, the doors are open and waiting when she rounds the corner. She glances over her shoulder. The monster—because that thing isn’t human—is up again and making up for lost time.

_For such a lumbering piece of shit, he’s catching up mighty fast._

Alice kicks up her pace a notch, eyes focused on her goal when a voice catches her attention from behind.

“Alice!”

She skids to a halt and feels like she’s been punched in the gut.

Leslie.

The thing heard him too. It whips around and lets out another bestial roar before chasing after Leslie.

“No!”

Without a second thought, Alice changes direction, heart in her throat. It was one thing when it was after her—that was terrifying enough—but for it to go after poor, sweet Leslie…

It’s got him cornered, the chainsaw high in the air, and Alice doesn’t hesitate before slamming her whole body into its side. She’s not large or heavy, but a full-grown woman sprinting into someone—even _that_ thing—makes a difference. The edge of the chainsaw catches her shoulder and she yelps, but she grabs Leslie’s hand and pulls him after her.

“Where’s Jimenez?” she calls.

“We have to hide!” he replies.

She shifts so that he’s running in front of her. It’s a slower pace that makes the spot between her shoulder blades itch, but she’s not going to leave him behind. Her hand presses against the center of his back and urges him just a tiny bit faster, just a little further. They round the corner again and she sees the elevator.

“There! Go there!”

He runs for it, arms outstretched and Alice feels panic sharp and hot in her throat. That thing is just a couple steps behind them…so close…

They tumble into the elevator and the doors shut at the last second. Sparks fly from teeth catching on metal as the lift starts moving with a serene _ding_. A relieved sob bubbles out of her before she turns to Leslie. They have no idea what’ll be at the next stop—not that she’s pressed any buttons, but it’s going down anyway—they should take this moment.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

He’s clutching at his head, shaking so hard she can hear his teeth clicking. Alice empathizes, but right now isn’t the time for her to shut down. Now that she’s not alone, she’s got more than herself to worry about.

“Li-Li? Talk to me. Are you hurt, honey?”

Slowly, he shakes his head. She does her own once over, confirming his answer before relaxing. Her attention turns to her own body as her shoulder makes its presence known. Very known. Like, screaming with neon signs and a blow horn.

Agony ripples through her in nauseating pulses. A hand finds the wound, becomes slippery within seconds, but she’s too afraid to look at it. There’s nothing she can do except try to stop the bleeding, for now.

The elevator comes to smooth stop and the doors open. The entire building shakes and nearly takes her legs out from under her, but she manages to get them both up. They’ve made it a few feet when a door opens and Jimenez stumbles out with a woman. The two parties meet halfway.

“Leslie! There you are!” Jimenez says, “And Alice…oh, you’ve been injured.”

“We need to get out of here,” Alice says.

The woman she doesn’t recognize jerks a thumb over her shoulder.

“This way.”

Jimenez reaches for Leslie, but the boy lunges for Alice and latches onto her arm. There’s a pause of shocked silence for a moment, before the building shakes again and snaps everyone out of it. They trot to the exit the woman had indicated, out to the front of Beacon.

An ambulance, manned by a police officer, is waiting for them.

“Kidman!” he says.

Kidman, who Alice now assumes is a detective, rips the doors open and climbs in. That doesn’t seem quite right (isn’t she supposed to help the civilians in first?) but Alice is more distracted by their surroundings. All of Krimson City has become an apocalyptic nightmare. Entire skyscrapers are crumbling as she watches, the sky full of smoke and ash.

_Oh god, Kendra._

She reaches for her phone, remembers only after she’s patting her own ass that a certain psychopath is in possession of it.

“Hey, c’mon! Get in!” Kidman shouts.

She and Jimenez help Alice in, since her shoulder makes it difficult. They settle her on a bench next to Leslie, who grabs onto her arm and buries his face into her uninjured shoulder.

“Please, Leslie! You must calm down!” Jimenez says.

Alice can’t help, mind preoccupied with the wound in her shoulder, the pain of which is in steady crescendo. Blood has soaked the entire left side of her body, making it stick to her skin. The ground beneath them trembles and she has to grip onto the bench to keep both her and Leslie upright.

“Detective! Over here!” the driver shouts.

Seconds later, the ambulance is peeling away from Beacon and a man is diving through the passenger window. Those next few minutes are the most terrifying, as the officer weaves through debris and a city literally coming apart at the seams. Leslie whimpers and holds onto her and Alice just tries to breathe through the chaos.

Finally, things seem to settle for a few moments, blessed quiet descending.

“Everyone alright back there?”

Alice glances up, the detective looking over his shoulder at them through the small window.

“We’re alright,” Kidman replies, and then pauses, eyes on Alice. “Most of us, anyway.”

“Jimenez, I know you’re more of a brain doctor, but do you think you could do something about my shoulder?” Alice asks.

He blinks out of whatever weird stupor he’s been under trying to get Leslie’s attention to calm him down. One look at her shoulder and he pales, but nods, shuffling around to get a medical kit. With some reluctance, he leaves Leslie’s side to come to hers.

“I’ll need you to remove your shirt…” he says.

Frowning, Alice grits her teeth and unbuttons her top. He helps her peel off the half he needs, since Leslie won’t release her arm for the other half. She hisses through her teeth when ragged bits that have begun to dry rip away.

“Hurt…hurt…Alice…”

Alice looks away from Jimenez, not wanting to see one bit of her ruined shoulder. Instead, she focuses on Leslie and his face scrunched up in worry. She hopes her smile doesn’t look like too much of a grimace.

“A little,” she admits, “but I’ll be alright. Right, doc?”

There’s warning in her voice that Jimenez seems to pick up on because his lips twitch for a reassuring smile as well.

“R-right,” he says, “Alice will be good as new in no time.”

Leslie smiles then, frail shoulders collapsing from pent up tension. He falls into a soft repetitive murmur. With him distracted by whatever he’s doing, she turns back Jimenez.

“So how bad is it, really?” she whispers.

“Some of the muscle is still intact, as is the tendon, which is why you can lift the arm,” he explains, “but it might have nicked bone. I’m surprised you haven’t passed out yet from pain. You shouldn’t use this if you can avoid it.”

Alice is glad she’s wearing the tank top beneath her button-up. He wouldn’t be surprised if he could see the shape she’s in—and has been in.

“I have a high tolerance,” she replies, “that being said, is there anything you can give me?”

“Nothing that won’t leave you incapacitated.”

As helpful as opioids would be, she can’t afford to be high as a kite or passed out in her own drool. Alice nods, resigns herself to being in agony indeterminately, and leans back.

“Thanks anyway, doc.”

A few minutes pass in silence and Alice reaches a state of mental balance where her pain is manageable. Just as she’s thinking she could even catch a nap, the tempo of Leslie’s constant stream picks up.

“Quiet…Fine…Fine…Fa…”

Alice perks up, senses going on alert. She glances at him and then up at the two in the front seat, panic lighting anew in her veins when she sees that something is wrong with their driver.

 _That’s not normal_.

“Connelly?! Connelly!”

“Look out!”

“Fall…Fall…FALL!”

For a few, heart-stopping moments everyone is air-born.

 

_“Dammit, Alice, just go to sleep!”_

_It’s dark, so dark. The door is open but everything is so dark._

_“I’ll give you something to have nightmares about!”_

_Clawed hands reaching for her, wrapping around tiny wrists and ankles. Pulling, dragging. What’s under her bed? What’s by the window? Why is it so dark? Why is she so alone? She calls out._

_“Stop screaming, goddammit!”_

When Alice wakes again, the first thing she registers is that she’s not in pain. Is she dead? People don’t feel things when they’re dead, right? Except something is feathering against her cheek and the back of her hand. The air smells like earth and something else…something unfamiliar. Something unpleasant.

A groan works its way out of her parched throat, mostly out of confusion and a general doneness with the day. There’s a light touch to her bare arm, then her shoulder, purposeful. She cracks an eye open and sees a pale, blurry shape. Blinking, she gets them both open and the image sharpens to a (thank god) friendly face.

“Li-Li.”

She’s surprised her voice still works. She’s surprised anything still works. How did she and Li-Li survive that crash? Where even _is_ the crash? Somehow, she thinks the answers to all those questions have to do with the burned man from the hospital.

“You’re awake…?” Leslie asks.

“I’m awake, now,” she replies.

Alice braces herself for pain when she sits up, but her body feels…good. Really, good. She touches her head, shakes it clear of cobwebs. After gathering herself, she glances down at her shoulder. Nothing but unblemished skin, apart from the old scars. She tugs up the bottom of her tank-top and yes, even the bruises on her ribs are gone.

“You talked…in your sleep,” Leslie says.

She drops her shirt and looks at him, a frown threatening her features.

“That happens sometimes,” she replies, “I hope I didn’t scare you.”

This time he does manage a smile and shakes his head.

“Not of you…you’re not…scary.”

She smiles and touches his hand before glancing around. The sun’s setting, leaving the world in deep shadow, but she can still make out fields of tall grass and ranch-style fences. It looks like Elk River, and it probably is, considering they were headed that direction from Krimson City. This isn’t her first time here, but she doesn’t know the area like she knows Krimson.

“Right, okay.” She gets to her feet and guides Leslie up with her. “Let’s see if we can find someone to help us.”

“Help us…”

If the townspeople, wary and unfriendly as they can be, can’t (or won’t) help they should be able to find Valerio Jimenez’s hospice. Leslie used to be treated there, from what she’s heard, so that might even be their best option. He might be able to relax somewhere familiar.

She hums and takes his hand, guiding him down the dirt path, hoping they’re headed in the right direction. They get started, following the winding, dirt path through the rocky, uneven terrain. A few minutes later, she notices a crumpled form on the ground ahead and grimaces as they pass it.

 If Krimson City was bad, she should be prepared for similar in Elk River, even if she’s hoping for the best. Valerio Jimenez might not even be alive anymore at this rate. Maybe no one is. It’s just her and Leslie…and that guy with the magic teleporting trick.

_That’s a scary thought._

Leslie starts tugging at her hand, an alarmed sound bubbling from his throat. She glances at him and then follows his gaze behind, as the previous non-threatening heap becomes a very threatening non-heap.

“What the fuck is that?” she says. Not that she waits around for an answer.

She tightens her grip on Leslie’s hand and starts running. There’s a cabin at the bottom of the hill and the door is swinging on its hinges. She points to it, helps keep him upright when he trips on the descent. They get inside and Alice spins around, slamming and locking the door behind them.

The cabin is tiny, with no other exits except…

“The window. C’mon, I’ll help you through.”

He clambers over the sill and she follows right behind, wishing she’d tried those parkour classes with Kendra. They run and keep running, more of the zombie’s chasing after them as they go. It’s as they’re going through the biggest section of Elk River that they encounter trouble.

Or at least, Alice does.

A zombie with a gun fires too close for comfort and she ducks behind a set of stairs. Leslie jerks his hand free of hers and just keeps going, slipping beneath the heavy wooden gate right before it slams shut. Alice swears and then backs away from the open area, wary of the zombies that could see her any moment. If they haven’t already.

The houses here are large and built above ground, providing pools of dark shadow. As the hissing grows closer, Alice slides into one beneath a set of stairs—sidestepping a huge bear trap along the way. She needs to survive this and then she needs to find Leslie again. Who knows what else is lurking around here—not that the zombies aren’t dangerous enough already.

She leans against a stone wall and tries to catch her breath, pushing sweaty strands of hair from her face. An all-out sprint like that is impossible to sustain. How Leslie is doing it, malnourished and sheltered as he has been, is beyond her.

“I’m impressed.”

_For the love of fuck!_

The sound Alice makes isn’t so much a scream as a squeak—not because she remembers to stay quiet, but because she still doesn’t have enough air for it. The cloaked man is standing behind her, in her personal space again. Within the confines of her hiding spot, Alice doesn’t have much room to maneuver away.

“You!” she hisses.

He speaks over her, as if they’re having a casual conversation about the weather.

“You’ve survived longer than I expected—and behaved…admirably.”

Glaring, she presses a hand to her racing heart, willing it to slow from heart attack pace.

“No thanks to you,” she mutters. At his arched eyebrow, she gestures to her shoulder, “That maniac with the chainsaw. The entire city falling apart. Ring any bells?”

She doesn’t like the look her gives her. Professional curiosity written across his otherwise blank features, like a scientist with an experiment.

 _A really unethical scientist with a really fucked up experiment_.

“You’re alive, aren’t you? And uninjured, from what I can see.”

She narrows her eyes and scrapes a hand through her hair, tugging it back again. Too bad she didn’t bring extra hair-ties. It would be one less annoyance right now.

“And I assume that’s your doing because my ‘purpose’ is to protect Li-Li. Am I right?”

He tilts his head and that’s even worse. Her initial impression is that he’s pleased, but it’s more like he’s impressed? Either way, it’s too condescending to be flattering. Not that she’d be flattered by a homicidal maniac’s praise anyway.

“Picked that up quickly, I see. Good.”

Alice crosses her arms, partially to show her defiance, but mainly because the cool temperature is starting to get to her. There’s a rip in the leg of her pants that she’s only noticing now.

“Why do you want him protected? Why drag him into this at all if you wanted him safe?” she demands.

His expression flickers, a hint of annoyance. Alice snorts with her own withering look.

“You either get someone smart or oblivious protecting him. Can’t have it both ways.”

There’s something like static where he’s standing, and then he’s right in front of her, a hand around her throat. He presses her back against the wall, expression thunderous.

“Watch your tongue, insect.”

She wriggles, adrenaline pumping hard and fast through her veins. His palm is pressing against her windpipe, but she can get enough air to breathe. For now. Probably a good idea to stop pushing him.

“I’m not really into choking. What’s the safe word?”

_For fuck’s sake, Alice._

And just like that, the curiosity is back. Like he’s confused by her. His grip on her throat eases, which was the desired result. Her dazzling smile is more of a grimace while she works her fingers between his hand and her neck, managing to push his arm away.

“Look, we both want to keep Li-Li safe right now, so we’re kind of on the same team, aren’t we?”

This time he’s the one to narrow his eyes, lip curling a little. At least he doesn’t go for her throat again.

“We are by no means ‘on the same team’.”

She rolls her eyes. _So dramatic_.

“We have similar objectives. Does that sound better? All I’m saying is that working against each other isn’t going to help him.” His expression becomes less like he just tasted something foul, so she assumes that _is_ better. “Anyway, along that same line, I’m stuck here and I need something to defend myself with.”

He snorts and looks her up and down. For a hot minute she isn’t sure it’s purely critical. For a hot minute, she doesn’t mind if it’s not. What a strange reality she’s landed herself in.

“What makes you think I can secure that for you?”

She runs her tongue over her teeth, fixing him an unimpressed look.

“You have power in this…whatever the hell this is. If you can heal me up after throwing me off a cliff, you can provide a weapon.”

He smirks and waves a hand, a silver case appearing by her feet. Alice keeps an eye on him as she kneels and unclasps the lid. There’s a gun inside—not high caliber, but it has a ten-bullet magazine with some extra ammunition. She sighs, glad Kendra got her a permit in Krimson City and that they went to the range for girl’s nights.

“Thanks,” she says, and pauses, “Will you tell me your name already?”

The sound of gunshots snatches her attention away, heart jumping into gear. Alice tightens her grip, bracing herself to shoot something for real.

“Ruvik.”

She blinks and snaps her gaze back to the man in white—Ruvik—but he’s already gone.


	3. The Physics Are Broken (And So Is My Ass)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just what it says in the title. Some indirect attempt at Ruvik's POV. I tried, man, and that's what matters.

He’s known about her for months.

Ever since Leslie first met the girl—back when they began initial testing of his compatibility in STEM. The two met in a supply closet, the one that leads into Ruvik’s labs beneath the hospital. She let the boy stay, amateur that she was calming him with the soft refrain of four or five repeating notes. Leslie clutched onto it like a lullaby and started humming it when he got anxious. Which meant he hummed it often.

Jimenez didn’t like it, didn’t like anyone having any influence over the boy, but Ruvik was less jealous with his subject. Whatever was left of Leslie’s fragile sanity was preserved in that song. If it kept his mind from deteriorating, then Ruvik wouldn’t deprive him of it.

The next time Leslie met Alice, all he would repeat for the next two hours was “quiet”. The time after that, he’d hum the song and in between bursts he’d murmur “Alice” and “quiet” over and over. It drove Jimenez crazy.

After a while, it infected Ruvik too, the easy repetition and calming rhythm. He’d find it cycling through his mind in odd moments, while cleaning up experiments or making lab notes. Even in some of his recordings, snatches of it can be heard at the beginning or end. Faint, but still audible.

At first it irritated him. How dare she, some insignificant blip in his great scheme, affect him so? It was only because Leslie had become so dependent on her that she was permitted to survive. Soon, Ruvik had all but forgotten where the song originated from. And when Jimenez turned on him—well, he had a shining moment of empathy with the boy.

The memory of his sister. His rage. Those few notes. The only things keeping him to this wretched plane of existence through their torture.

And then she’s there when he finally launches his revenge. Ruvik doesn’t believe in any such nonsense as _fate—_ he’s a man of science—but he can’t overlook the fortuitousness of her presence. He isn’t going to just kill her. Not out of any sense of _debt_ for that song she unwittingly passed along to him, but because she is useful.

Meeting her the first time, he doesn’t quite understand Leslie’s use of “quiet” in relation to her. She’s frightened—as everyone is, as everyone _should be_. There’s nothing quiet about her yelping or panting or one-sided conversations with herself. Nothing soothing about her demanding answers of him.

Her brain is interesting, at least. Hooked into STEM, even without giving him full access, Ruvik can sense the general tempo and organization of her thoughts. A free-floating, organized chaos. It brings to mind Ruvik’s own labs, where he can find anything despite the clutter, even if no one else can. There’s nothing about that that someone with hyper-empathy like Leslie would find comforting.

And then he understands—

Ruvik sends the Sadist after her and her brain trips into flight instinct like anyone else’s would. It isn’t especially interesting, although he does love to watch his subjects scurry like mice in a trap. What piques his interest is when she takes the opportunity to try to _hurt_ the Sadist during her escape. That shows thought—or at least a tailored survival instinct.

It’s enough to allow him to bring Leslie into the mix. After all, she is useless if she won’t—or can’t—protect Leslie. And that’s when she becomes _fascinating_.

Her thought pattern shifts so suddenly, it nearly gives him vertigo. Those scattered, random thoughts quiet, her whole mind narrows to a single goal. Ruvik observes, as she puts herself in harm’s way for Leslie and doesn’t stop until she’s in the back of the ambulance with him.

More than can be said for Jimenez, the coward. She is exactly what Ruvik wants.

Both Leslie and Ruvik need a few moments to collect themselves. Projecting himself like that has sapped some of his strength and Leslie can’t handle intense stress for extended periods of time—even if the girl helps. The boy leans against her as the ambulance carries them towards Elk River, and Ruvik allows his mind to slip into Leslie’s for a moment.

Ruvik’s too drained to take full control yet, but he can at least share Leslie’s senses. Against his (Leslie’s) side, Alice is warm and sturdy compared to his shivering body. Her eyes are closed as Jimenez works on her shoulder, eyebrows pinched and jaw clamped shut.

Leslie’s not listening to the doctor’s diagnosis but Ruvik is, and he scoffs, knowing he could do far superior work than that bumbling imbecile. With his eyes closed.

One of Alice’s comments snags his attention though.

_“I have a high tolerance…”_

A high pain tolerance is not a shredded shoulder. Detective Castellanos took a similar wound to his calf, but that didn’t touch bone, and the man is larger than her. She should be sobbing or in shock, but instead she’s drumming her fingers against Leslie’s knee. Ruvik could assign notes to each one and know what rhythm she’s tapping out to distract herself.

It hits him then, why Leslie picked up that tune for comfort. Alice comforts _herself_ with it. An anchor, a reality check. She’s gripping onto sanity and consciousness like this. And its use is so thoughtless she doesn’t even seem to notice it, which means it’s a conditioned response.

This knowledge, coupled with her previous declaration, gnaws at Ruvik’s curiosity. Despite Leslie’s reliance on her, neither Ruvik nor Jimenez bothered investigating Alice further. She was just happenstance, background noise. And yet, here she is, in the thick of something she’s never been past the surface of.

Why is she handling all of this so _well_?

As Jimenez leaves her alone, the girl’s mind settles, reaching a cool equilibrium it hasn’t had since Ruvik activated STEM. He understands what Leslie means when he whispers “quiet” now. Her entire presence is tranquil like the still surface of a lake; such a stark contrast to Ruvik’s constant, burning rage that it rocks him.

And now he’s burning with curiosity too. Most of the subjects in STEM are transparent to him, except her.

The upcoming cliff is all the opportunity he needs. His strength has returned to infect the driver of the ambulance and hurl them over the edge. He separates the group, leaves Jimenez to his own devices in one of the villages, the two detectives in the burning ambulance, and moves the other two to a quieter place.

With her unconscious, Ruvik dives in, thirsty for knowledge, for the specifics of her mind. He wants to know it as intimately as his own, as he knows a human body or the heights of agony. His motives are elusive, before he settles for the simple explanation that she, of all people, should be firmly under his control. Considering she’s to protect Leslie, after all.

Everyone in STEM belongs to him; their thoughts, memories, emotions, all of them are his, and so is she.

It starts in thin layers, like films over a projector. Her specific reality fills his senses, her perception of the world settling around him like a blanket. The edges of the world sharpen, all hard lines—like she spends a lot of time focusing on details.

The layers begin to thicken, like pages in a book, and all those random thoughts find their slots and niches where they belong. Thoughts and images, interweaving over each other and becoming more complex the longer he watches.

The world starts to tint red and darken. Between pieces, Ruvik starts catching flashes that don’t belong. Until now, these overlays had sparks of amusement, snatches of hilarity that Ruvik feels secondhand. The horror and fear creeps up on him so slowly, he almost doesn’t notice it at first. He’s slipping deeper into her subconscious.

And then the world shifts into shadow. The layering slows, like it’s running out. A couple appears, a man and woman whose resemblance is too similar to Alice’s for them to not be her parents. The woman shares her large, round blue eyes and the brassy auburn hair, some of her facial structure like the nose and chin. The man passed along large plush lips, the cheekbones, and her short stature.

Two perfectly normal people, from what Ruvik can tell, though neither of them are smiling. Then another layer descends and the man and woman become haggard. Dark circles ring their eyes, skins pallid. Another layer, and their expressions shift into something almost demonic. Ruvik doesn’t feel like that’s all, but now he’s descended to Alice’s current state, where she rests unconscious, and he pauses to observe.

Where the world at the start of this had been sharp and clear, the details here are fuzzy, blurry. It’s obvious, however, that they’re in a child’s room. The furniture is small; there are toys sequestered in one corner, a tiny rumpled bed in another. Whatever cheerfulness and color there may have been has drained away into deep greys and pools of pitch black.

Ruvik turns. Alice is curled up on the bed, form flickering back and forth between past and present. Her eyes are wide and unfocused on the image of her parents. The final layer slips into place and the scene switches to life like hitting play on a projector.

The room comes alive with creatures so disturbing, so horrifying, Ruvik wonders if he’s somehow superimposed himself into her brain. But no, these monsters are nothing he’s ever conceived of himself. They don’t seem unfamiliar to Alice, who cowers just out of reach of their various appendages, whimpering when they scrape her skin.

“Dammit, Alice, just go to sleep!” the man, her father shouts.

The form on the bed settles on the younger version, as he grabs her wrist and begins dragging her from the corner.

“No! No! Let me go!” she cries.

The man ignores her, pulling her to the edge of the bed. Her small legs swing over and hands reach out, tugging at her ankles. Alice doesn’t stop fighting, alternating between squeezing her eyes shut and having them wide open. She flickers and it’s her adult self, arms bleeding, body bruised. The father takes her shoulders and shakes her.

“I’ll give you something to have nightmares about!” he snarls.

The small Alice returns, opens her mouth, and lets out a shriek at the top of her lungs. Ruvik narrows his eyes at the pitch.

“Stop screaming, dammit!”

Ruvik takes control of the scene, freezing it in place. He’s not sure if this is a dramatized occurrence from her past, a dream from her recent trauma, or an amalgam of fears and experiences she’s repressing. Whatever it is, it’s not so deep in her mind that it’s inaccessible. He’s not sure what to make of that. Though this little detour has shed some light on her, he now has even more questions than before.

Satisfied for the moment, he withdraws from her mind, where Alice is still unconscious in the grass. Leslie has, unexpectedly, stayed right by her side. She’s murmuring and jerking in her sleep, expression twisted and tense. Leslie senses his presence and startles but doesn’t leave her, which speaks even more for Ruvik’s choice to use her as protection.

He’s not going to trust Leslie to the likes of Kidman. Mobius may have ordered her to bring the boy out alive, but she’s not the reliable pawn they assume she is. When she finds out what Ruvik wants with Leslie, she’ll try to kill him. Jimenez is just the same. Alice, though, will protect him with her life. She’ll require the least amount of effort while reaping the most benefit.

The injuries she bears disappear with a wave of his hand. Leslie makes a pleased noise and passes his fingertips over the fresh skin. For a moment, Ruvik is tempted to experience it with him, but shakes the thought from his mind just as swiftly. He leaves the two, more interested in observing for now.

He follows their progress, not sure how he feels about the detective’s proximity. The goal was to keep them all separated, but he’ll protect Alice and Leslie if they get trapped along the way. Besides, Alice knows where the danger is, and she pushes Leslie at a relentless pace, far ahead of Castellanos.

What Ruvik doesn’t anticipate is that she gets held up in the portion of Elk River holding the sadist. It irritates him, at first. However, considering how Detective Castellanos is getting held up even with a _gun_ , he must admit that she’s doing well. Better than he could have hoped for the average person.

But then Alice isn’t average, is she?

Certainly not when she’s taunting him with his hand around her throat. He’d think she was suicidal if not for the way her pulse thrums beneath his fingers. Ruvik knows she’s afraid, but she radiates calm like heat from a fire nevertheless. Her thoughts, too, aren’t hyper-focused as they were facing the Sadist—fast-paced but there’s still room for the odd, stray thought.

He doesn’t kill her, even gives her a gun. She holds it with familiarity, hands and fingers sure as she grips it and flicks the safety off. Though he’s rewarded her enough for one moment, Ruvik offers her one more gift—his name. Though she can’t see him anymore, he wants to observe her in action with the detective.

She deposits the extra bullets in a pocket of her pants and then sneaks from her hiding spot, gun preceding her. Ruvik can almost hear her heartbeat as she slips into the house the detective is investigating. They meet on the stairs, nearly shooting each other in their fear. It would be humorous, if Ruvik didn’t still have a use for her.

Before there are any injuries however, the detective recognizes her.

“You were in the ambulance,” Castellanos says.

“So were you,” she replies, and her voice is inappropriately cheerful.

He affords her gun a dubious look, glancing back at her.

“You know how to use that thing?” he asks.

She places a hand on her hip and arches an eyebrow, cocking the gun upwards. “Sure do.”

“Good, then stay close. If you see any of those things, aim for the head.”

She wrinkles her nose but nods and starts following a step behind him. Ruvik senses Jimenez in the house as well, out on the balcony and he frowns. He should have been paying more attention to the pest. If he figures out Leslie’s—or even Alice’s purpose—he’ll do everything within his limited power to ruin Ruvik’s plans.

The two meet him on the balcony. Overlooking the compound, they exchange few pleasantries before discussing their escape. Jimenez’s is predictably simplistic and idiotic, but Ruvik’s not about to stop them from a suicide mission. Alice, however, realizes the holes in his plan and vetoes it before any action is taken.

“The only thing that’s going to accomplish is getting someone killed. There has to be a better way,” she says.

Castellanos nods, both of them ignoring Jimenez’s impatient expression.

“I agree.” He turns to Alice. “You and I will take a look at the area. You stay here, doctor. We’ll be back in ten minutes.”

Together, they slip from the second story and by some non-verbal agreement, approach the barn first. Ruvik smirks, aware of the thin planks of wood separating them from certain death. What’s more, he can sense Jimenez already leaving the house where they told him to wait. What a spectacular catastrophe this is transforming into.

Alice pales, body seeming to lock up on her without permission. She and Castellanos regard each other.

“Is that…?” she whispers.

“The thing with the chainsaw,” Castellanos replies.

She sucks in a breath, her hand slipping to her shoulder even though it’s healed now. Castellanos also seems to remember his own injury from the Sadist, a grimace on his face.

“Oh god, I hate that thing,” Alice mutters.

The detective snorts, which Ruvik assumes is agreement, then gestures for Alice to follow him. They climb up the stairs and slip inside. Alice, less cautious, approaches the railing and Ruvik transports behind her, still invisible. A shiver wracks her frame, though he’s not sure if it’s the chained up Sadist or that she can sense his proximity.

“Ruvik, what the fuck?!” she whispers to herself.

For a moment Ruvik thinks she really did sense him, until he sees her furrowed brow and dismayed expression. Ah, she’s speaking _at_ him, not _to_ him.

Castellanos clears the area and joins her, one broad shoulder brushing hers. Ruvik stiffens with an unexpected swell of possessive fury. He never has liked others touching what’s his. He supposes Alice is no different, though none of his anger is directed at her for touching Castellanos.

“Hey, if one or both of us ends up dying, I’d like to at least know your name,” she says.

“Sebastian Castellanos,” he replies, glancing at her. “Yours?”

She rests her hips against the railing and leans, apparently to better assess the Sadist’s bindings. The rotting wood holds, despite a warning creak; her feet leave the floor, but both hands are firm on the rail. Castellanos knots a hand in the bottom of her shirt and Ruvik nearly snarls.

“Hey, be careful! You’re going to fall.”

“No, I’m not,” she replies, “Besides, you’ve got a hand on me.”

Not for long, Ruvik thinks darkly. He’s quickly realizing that allowing the two of them near each other was a mistake.

“That doesn’t mean—”

She drops back to the floor and turns around.

“My name’s Alice,” she says. “He’s not fighting too hard—I assume because he’s not properly motivated. Let’s fly below his radar and see what else we can find.”

They do a thorough investigation of the barn, turning up little ammunitions that the paranoid villagers left behind before being dominated by STEM. The two encounter the haunted at intervals, but Alice escapes each confrontation with minimal damage. Ruvik’s rage, in the meantime, cools as the two keep their distance. Eventually they reach the gate, and Alice keeps watch while Castellanos investigates the gate’s mechanism.

“Shit, we’re going to need to cut through this with something,” he says.

Alice swallows, glancing at him sideways.

“Like with a chainsaw?” she asks. When he pales, she offers, “We could try to find a way over the wall…”

He hums in thought before turning back to her.

“Let’s get back to the doctor and come up with a new plan,” he says.

The two return to their starting point only to discover what Ruvik’s known—Jimenez left. They search the whole structure but the doctor is nowhere to be found. Ruvik can sense him hidden in the attic of one of the other houses.

“What do you think?” Sebastian asks.

Quite the dilemma. Ruvik can see the struggle play out across her features. He delves into the stream of her brainwaves for a moment, curious about her conflict. Half of her is wary and she’s right to be. Jimenez is a snake and she’s seems to know that, even if she can’t pinpoint why. The other half of her, predictably, is the instinctive, trained response that she should try to save him.

Alice bites her lip and Ruvik has the strangest urge to do just the same.

“I don’t think there’s much we can do for him, at this point. He’s either hiding or dead. The best we can do is clear a path of escape and hope he’s still alive to take advantage,” she says.

Something in her mind pulses, a stray aggressive thought that Ruvik isn’t privy to while she’s conscious. Whatever it is, it doesn’t reflect in her expression and Castellanos seems none the wiser for it. Her choice is strategic, walking a passive line that leaves Jimenez’s fate in his own hands.

“Alright. In that case, I say we take out as many of these things as we can. Then we’ll deal with that thing,” Castellanos says.

Alice nods and follows him, and Ruvik grows almost bored with how well they work together, dispatching the rest of the town. They collect weapons along the way, though Alice relinquishes all but the grenades and her own handgun to Sebastian. It’s logical—she doesn’t have the strength for the crossbow and she’s never fired a shotgun before.

Still, they dispatch the haunted with irritating ease and return to the barn, looking down on the Sadist from above again. Alice hums nervously, a pitch higher than her normal speaking voice. Castellanos slides her a sideways look.

“You still with me?” he asks.

Alice swallows and inhales. Ruvik watches her decision settle firm in her mind, despite her thundering heart. She turns to Castellanos with a smile that appears genuine.

“Still with you,” she replies.

Castellanos places a hand on her shoulder. “Good. Here’s the plan—”

The Sadist’s chains snap and the two jump away from each other. He bursts from his pen roaring, chainsaw alive in his hands.

“Holy shit!” Alice yelps.

“Get a grenade ready, he’s climbing the ladder,” Sebastian orders.

She does as she’s told, watching the lumbering figure ascend. When the detective shouts “now!” she hurls the activated grenade across the divide. The momentum pitches her forward, the explosion throws off her balance, and she starts to fall head-first over the railing. At the last moment, the detective grabs her hand and jerks her back.

Jolted backwards, she lands against his chest like something out of those romances Laura was once so fond of. Ruvik’s rage boils over. A telepathic burst jettisons the two apart. The detective is sent in the direction of the stampeding Sadist. Alice _does_ fly over the railing this time, and screams as she hurtles towards the ground.


	4. Bad Times Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alice is somehow even more done than before and Jimenez is being himself--which is the Biggest Asshole In STEM.

The air rushes out of her lungs when she impacts. For a dazed moment, she stares up at the sky, trying to breathe. When she manages to inhale, she groans and rolls to push herself up. It’s quiet and everything is still and Alice tenses.

_Too quiet. That’s suspicious._

She scans the area, catches sight of the tall wooden wall. How did she get outside? As far as she knows, her destination had been the ground floor of the barn.

“Broken physics,” she murmurs.

The growl of a chainsaw and Sebastian’s shouts come from within. Worry flares in her chest as she scrambles to her feet. He needs her help! There’s no way he can take that thing on all by himself.

“He’s coming…he’s coming…”

She turns at the distant sound of Leslie’s voice. For a moment, she’s torn. But Sebastian has weapons. He has _one_ enemy, Jimenez, and training. Leslie needs her more. Sending a silent apology to Sebastian anyway, she turns and jogs down the dirt path. Up ahead, there’s another conglomeration of houses. She spots a flash of white that must be Leslie.

_Please don’t let there be any—_

“Dammit!”

She stops and reaches for her gun. It’s not tucked into her waistband anymore.

_Nonono…_

“Fuck me!”

She must have lost it when she went through the floor. Meaning she’s weaponless and there are two of those zombies coming after her. Alice changes direction and sprints around them, climbing up the steps to—

“Oh, thank god! Doctor Jimenez!”

She throws the door open and runs inside, zombie’s right on her tail. She skitters to a stop as he appears around a plastic curtain, bits of his brain visible through a jagged hole in his skull.

“Christ, what the—”

Whatever has happened to the villagers has happened to him, except he seems to have retained some consciousnes.

“Alice! Let the doctor make you feel better…” he slurs.

Alice yelps as he reaches for her with one beefy hand, sidestepping at the last moment. He snatches hold of one of the zombies instead. It hisses and spits, but it provides a distraction as the second one seems to take offense that his buddy is in peril. Alice slips out and shuts the door behind her, heart thundering in her ribs.

“I’m—I’m not qualified for any of this,” she mumbles to herself.

When she glances up, Leslie is waddling towards her, looking worried. She straightens and tries to look like she’s got everything under control. It’s a good thing facial expressions go over his head. Her face must be so white she’ll have to paint color back into it.

“Alice…? Are you alright…? Alright…?” he asks.

She straightens up and drags a hand through her tangle of hair, pulling it back from her face.

“I’m just fine, Li-Li. Are you okay?”

“F-fine…fine…”

Relaxing, Alice takes his hand and begins leading him away from the hospice. Last thing they need is Valerio deciding to “look after” his old patient. Without a gun, she knows she can’t stand up to him. If he were human, she could do it, but with him in his zombie state, she doesn’t stand a chance.

“I’m tired, Alice…tired…so tired…” he murmurs.

Worry and sympathy grip her insides. Leslie’s not used to this much physical activity, or this much stress. This whole… _adventure_ would be grueling for even the toughest marine. She’s surprised and impressed that he’s gone on for as long as he has, but he needs rest.

“Alright, Li-Li. Hold on just a sec.”

She glances around. A house seems like it would be safer than out in the open, but any of these houses be zombie-infested. Something catches her attention…music? Tilting her head, she strains to listen, trying to pinpoint the source. She figures which house it must be and begins tugging Leslie towards it.

When she gets in the door, the music is louder and the room is deserted. There’s a second door, this one painted blue with a symbol smeared across it in (what must be) blood. Golden light is spilling through a little square near the top. Blinking, she recognizes the piece.

“Claire de Lune,” she says, “Debussy.”

Leslie twitches, fingers squeezing her hand.

“His…it’s his…”

“Whose?” she asks.

He doesn’t answer, but falls into mumbling so low she can’t understand his words. She frees her hand from his and edges closer to the door. The music is comforting, familiar, and lessens the acuity of her shot nerves. Though she hesitates to touch its surface, Alice nudges the door open and peers inside. There’s a jar of something thick and green on the floor, and a square piece of ceramic.

Curious, she picks up the ceramic and brushes dust from its surface. It looks…like it goes to a map? She glances around, but the wooden walls are bare. The green stuff she gives an incredulous glance. No way is she touching _that_. She’s pretty sure she’s seen it come out of zombies.

_No thanks, I’ll pass._

Across from her, there’s a sink and over the sink is a mirror. The music and the light seem to originate from there. Brow furrowing, she cocks her head and steps closer.

_What is this? A really fucked up Disney movie? Where’s Prince Charming?_

She just fell through a floor, surely a musical mirror isn’t that strange? Just as she thinks that, the glass cracks, and the golden light intensifies—almost blinding. Ducking her head, a folder on the lip of the sink catches her attention. It’s the manila kind hospitals use, her name labelled across the little fin. She picks it up and flips it open. There’s only one piece of paper within, and she recognizes the doctor’s name at the top.

_Physician: Hudson, Caroline_

_Patient: Kincaid, Alice E._

_Prescription: ~~Clonazepam 1mg 2mg, Tegretol 200mg 300mg, Carbatrol 200mg 300mg, Depakene 750mg 1500mg, Depakote 750mg 1500mg~~_

_Doctor’s Note: Patient does not respond to treatment. Experiences side effects, but no relief of symptoms. Blood tests reflect consumption of medications as prescribed. Brain scan recommended._

Feeling a chill travel through her, Alice tears it apart and drops the pieces in the sink. The mirror pulls at her, like her gaze is drawn to it, but she forces herself to turn around. Leslie shouldn’t be left alone for too long and nothing in here is of value. Leaving the map fragment on the sink, she exits the little room.

“Li-Li?”

He hugs onto her arm and presses his face into her shoulder.

“He’s coming…he’s coming…” he says.

She glances around, but they’re still alone. Even outside the dirty window, it’s deserted.

“Ruvik? Hasn’t he been around?” she replies.

She assumes he has been. After all, he’s in charge and she seems to be the only with explicit directions. He strikes her as the type to micromanage. If he hasn’t been hanging around, she’s been muttering at thin air. No wonder Sebastian looked at her like that.

Leslie whimpers and leans closer, shaking his head as well he can with his forehead pressed against her sweat-sticky skin. With her free hand, she begins running her fingers through his hair. It’s oily and dirty, but she doesn’t mind. Not when some of the tension eases from his shoulders and his breathing evens out.

“Let’s sit down,” she suggests, “you need to rest.”

“I need to rest…”

“Yup. You’ve had a big day.”

_We both have._

She guides him into another room deeper in the house, where she’s relieved to find a couch. Hoping there’s nothing unsavory soaked into it (of course there probably _is_ , ugh she’s had _enough_ ) she sits them down on one of the cushions. Leslie settles against her, his head on her chest while she leans her side against the arm of the couch.

“Thump…thump…thump…”

Alice realizes he’s listening to her heart and hopes it stays steady. She doesn’t want to alarm him with her paranoia. After all, what’s there to worry about? Just zombies, mutations with chainsaws, a man with a major god-complex and the power to back it up, who has a fixation on Leslie. And her by extension. Her heart squeezes in panic.

_Think happy, calming thoughts. Puppies. Flowers. Coffee._

She starts humming, hoping to mask the change in her heart rate. First she follows along to Claire de Lune, but when the notes exceed her register, she lets it flow into a simpler tune. To her surprise, Leslie joins her, until his voice trails off altogether and she assumes he’s dozing. Too wary to close her eyes, Alice just takes the moment to recuperate.

The world went to Hell in a handbasket with a big red bow on the handle, all in a matter of minutes.

She needs a minute to let her mind adjust.

Leslie shifts, voice picking up her humming once more. She glances down at him and sees his eyes fluttering. She starts running her fingers through his hair again and the next note draws itself out.

“You should be resting, sweetie,” she murmurs, “We might have to run again soon.”

“Alice.”

Her touch falters. It’s still his voice, but…

Something in the pitch, the tone, has changed. Alice’s hand pauses, fingers still in his hair.

“Li-Li…?”

He tilts his head back and his eyes are paler than usual. Pale like Ruvik’s. Something like static erupts around him. The face in front of her flickers. For a moment, Leslie’s features become sharper and longer and marred with burns.

“L-Leslie…”

The high-pitched keening that kicked off this whole nightmare blares around them. She jerks her hands up to cover her ears, but Leslie—Ruvik—Leslie keeps a firm hold on her left arm. Crying out, the world goes blurry and double and Alice blinks as her eyes water.

_For fuck’s sake!_

In the next moment, everything is back to the way it was. Leslie is laying against her chest, docile as a kitten, and her head is leaning against the back of the couch. Did she fall asleep? Was it a dream? No…no, she’s spent a lifetime discerning dreams from reality. There was definitely…something. She doesn’t know what, but it was unsettling.

_Ruvik, what the fuck are you up to?_

She doesn’t have long to contemplate. Leslie jolts upright and hops to his feet, snatching up her hand and tugging with a strength Alice didn’t know he possessed.

“We have to go…go…!”

She scrambles to her feet, eyes widening as he drags her out the front door, leaving behind the soothing notes of Claire de Lune. Gunshots sound off behind them. Alice glances over her shoulder, something in her chest easing when she sees Sebastian in one piece.

“Li-Li, it’s okay! He’s a friend!” she says.

He throws a look behind them and cries out.

“Leslie! Slow down! Stop!”

Alice’s head jerks to confirm with her eyes what her ears tell her. Sure enough, Jimenez is running a couple steps behind Sebastian. Her eyes narrow and her grip on Leslie’s hand tightens. That bastard! She knows he was hiding in one of the houses—she caught a glimpse of him in an attic while she and Sebastian were clearing a house.

Even now, he’s letting Sebastian carve out a path through the zombies.

“Don’t stop,” she tells Leslie.

He whimpers and cuts to the right, urging her into another house. They burst through the door and bypass the rooms to a set of steps. An ice-cold pit lodges in her stomach when she sees it leads down. Her arm twitches back, trying to get him to stop, but he doesn’t relent.

 “Wait, Li-Li, not there…”

With his hand clamped around hers and their momentum already going forward, it’s all she can do to keep from _falling_ down the stairs. There’s no chance of stopping and finding another path. Their route opens into a darkroom. Sinister shadows lurk in the corners, familiar to her in a way that chills her blood.

“Wait, wait!” she gasps, “Slow down, Li-Li.”

He curls in on himself as he slows to a stop, arms tucked in close to his body. Awash in red light, Leslie looks bloody and her stomach turns over. She glances around them, looking for a door. What she finds instead is a wall of photographs.

Even from a distance, some of images are familiar. She’s pretty sure her favorite coffee shop and the front of her apartment building are among the collage. Gaze falling to the armchair facing the assemblage, her lips thin to a firm line.

_I don’t who’s been stalking me, but they’re going to regret it when I get ahold of them._

Spotting a doorway, Alice wraps an arm around Leslie’s tense shoulders and guides him out of the haunting red light. It’s a small space—once a closet, she assumes. The narrow shelf lining the wall is scattered with bits of equipment, including tins of developing chemicals.

_Would it be childish to smash everything in here?_

Her eyes slide to Leslie, cowering in the deepest corner and murmuring about “him” again. Alice doesn’t need to worsen his anxiety by throwing a shit-fit. Grumbling—on the inside, anyway—she resigns herself to leaving the items alone.

“Leslie? Alice?”

Jimenez and Sebastian invade their little hiding place, the latter somehow looking _better_ than before. She wonders if it has to do with that strange mirror and the green goo. It doesn’t matter so long as he’s alive and semi-intact, which (despite the blood and zombie guts) he is. Sebastian stays by the door, but Jimenez approaches, boxing Leslie in.

“There, there. Doctor Jimenez is here. You’re alright.”

_No thanks to you, shithead._

Her attention shifts to Jimenez, whose looking just _dandy._ There are little splatters of blood on the bottom of his lab coat and along the sleeves, but he’s nowhere near as ragged as Sebastian.

_Gosh, golly, I wonder why!_

The seething burn in her chest sets her teeth on edge.

“Gee, thanks, doc,” Alice replies.

Sebastian shoots her a look, eyebrows arched. Did she sound bitter? Whoops.

“Oh, Alice, of course I’m relieved that you’ve survived as well,” Jimenez says.

Resisting the urge to shoot him (the bird—she doesn’t have a firearm _anyway_ ), she turns to Sebastian as he speaks up.

“Here, I have your gun.”

She accepts her weapon with a sigh of relief and digs into her pocket to refill the magazine. Just as she separates the pieces, Leslie starts struggling again, trying to get to her. A sick, wet sound starts from the next room. Both Alice and Sebastian straighten, exchanging looks.

_Uh oh._

“Settle down, Leslie!” Jimenez says.

 _Oh yes, **that’s**_ _going to help. Asshole._

“Wait, doc, I think something’s coming,” Sebastian says.

She snaps the magazine back into place, loads a bullet in the chamber, and thumbs the safety off.

“A-Alice…”

Eyes intent on the doorway and Sebastian, she edges a step back until Leslie’s hand clutches onto the back of her shirt.

“Something here…! Something scary…!”

Keeping her voice low and soothing, she says, “I won’t let anything hurt you. Just stay here.”

Right as she says this, Sebastian steps out of the room. His panicked shout sets her heart to racing and she pulls away from Leslie’s gasp. Swallowing down the reflexive scream itching the back of her throat, she creeps closer to the doorway. The slippery, squelching sound hasn’t stopped and it sounds loud in her ears.

“Sebastian?” she calls.

“It’s invisible!” he shouts.

 _That’s why it’s so loud_.

The thought has barely crossed her mind when it becomes visible—so it can attack her. That shriek comes back with a vengeance as the tentacles flail at her face.

“That’s not right! That’s not right!” she screams.

All of her strength is focused on keeping it off her, which means she can’t position her gun to shoot the damn thing. Working a leg between them, she kicks it off and finally manages to squeeze a shot off, clipping it in the shoulder. It careens away and fazes out of visibility again.

It’s still making that noise. She hates that noise.

“God, it’s so gross!” she says.

“Keep an eye out,” Sebastian calls from the other room.

“For what?! It to attack me?!”

There’s a pause as he considers and the tension mounts. Her gun is raised, finger on the trigger, but she knows she won’t be able to react in time before it pounces. She’s not sure she can hold it off like that again, either.

“There’s a ripple in the air when it moves! Look for that.”

And she looks. There’s nothing.

When Sebastian yells from the other room, she thinks fast. Grabbing a tin of developing fluid, she turns the corner and splashes it on the creature just as Sebastian throws it off. It tries to go invisible again, but a big yellow splotch stains its back. Sebastian and Alice fire into its head.

It falls dead among scattered photographs and empty bottles. She realizes, as she looks at the corpse, that it’s wearing the same patient’s uniform Leslie wears. Sebastian crouches down to do something with the body and the tentacle-head lolls. Feeling sick, Alice rushes back to Leslie’s side, to reassure herself that he’s okay.

“Is it over?” Jimenez asks.

“It’s dead,” she says.

Flicking the safety on her gun again, she tucks it into the waistband of her pants. Leslie ducks around Jimenez and hurtles into her, hugging tight despite the slime decorating her shirt. She rubs his back and wishes she could do more to soothe him. Over his head, Jimenez is staring and she doesn’t mind staring right back until he looks away.

 _That’s what I fucking thought, you little_ —

“This place is a deathtrap,” Sebastian says, “Is there anywhere safe at all?”

Alice thinks of Ruvik and his fabulous teleporting act and keeps her mouth shut. No, no there isn’t.

“I think that’s unlikely,” Jimenez says.

Ugh, just his _voice_ is grating. Even if he’s right.

Leslie pulls away, the pink tracks beneath his eyes stark against the pallor of his skin. Alice feels a pang in her heart. There’s only so much she can protect him from in this place.

“Can’t get out…can’t get out…” he whimpers.

“We’ll be okay,” she replies.

Sebastian picks up a set of double-syringes from the shelf and injects it into his arm. Alice watches the plunger depress, mouth agape and eyes wide.

“Are you insane?” she asks.

Maybe not the best company for that particular phrasing, but Leslie doesn’t seem to mind. Jimenez, oddly enough, doesn’t offer his opinion either—not that she wants it.

“It helps. You’ll feel better after using it,” Sebastian replies.

_Drugs are a hell of a drug, kids._

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Self-medication doesn’t seem like the best idea, strenuous circumstances or not.

Having dallied long enough, Jimenez approaches and begins ushering Leslie (and Alice along with him) from the room.

“Come, come, we must be going,” he says.

She bites her tongue to keep from snapping and then thinks, _ah what the hell_.

Smacking his hand away, Alice turns on him. “Don’t touch me!”

He jerks back, eyes wide. Sebastian comes up short as well. Leslie, however, doesn’t leave her side, rather shifts behind her. Heat floods her body, burning hot right in the center of her chest. Her hands ball into fists at her sides, muscles tense with restraint.

“Alice—” Sebastian starts.

“You…”

She realizes she doesn’t have a decent reason to explain her hostility. Sure, he hid in the attic, but what else should he have done? He’s just a doctor; he doesn’t know how to use a gun. It only makes sense for him to hide behind them while they handle the zombies. As for Leslie—Jimenez is his doctor, his seeming fixation is (read: would be) reasonable.

It doesn’t stop her from distrusting him. It just means she can’t lose her shit on him with Sebastian standing right there.

“Just…don’t touch me,” she says, more subdued.

Sebastian relaxes, the threat of conflict fading. Alice turns back to Leslie, apologizing for the outburst. He tucks himself into her side, hands clasped together. Jimenez takes the lead, more concerned with leaving than any creatures in the path ahead. As they round the corner, Alice sees nothing but a blank wall and swallows.

This is exactly why she didn’t want to come down here.

“The stairs are gone,” Jimenez says.

_Insightful observation. Would you like to comment on the color of the sky next?_

“We must be collectively losing our minds,” Sebastian replies.

Which wouldn’t be a bad idea if it didn’t resonate dangerously close to true. Alice glances at Leslie as he squeezes his eyes shut, lurching forward.

“Losing our minds…”

“Li-Li—”

“Losing our minds! Losing our minds! Losing our minds!”

That high-pitched ring is back, but not as painful or loud this time. She spins around, stomach doing somersaults even before she registers the hooded figure at the end of the hallway. Leslie falls silent, leaving Alice’s heartbeat loud in her ears.

“Oh, god…no…” Jimenez murmurs.

In her peripheral, he’s backing away, mouth hanging open and eyes the size of dinner plates. She inhales, tries to get a handle on her pulse. Ruvik is dangerous, but she’s been doing her job. It doesn’t seem like he’s interested in her at the moment, anyhow.

“Ruvik…it _is_ you…”

_And just what the hell does that mean?_

Her attention shifts away as Leslie starts screaming, falling to his knees at her side. Alice follows, trying to soothe him while keeping an eye on what’s happening. Jimenez kneels down next to them as well, but Sebastian is more focused on their resident psychopath.

“Who the hell are you?” he asks.

He turns, shoulders squared.

“Wait, Sebastian, stop,” she says.

“No, don’t follow!” Jimenez adds.

He ignores them both, striding after Ruvik with his gun drawn. The lights flicker, a pulse of what can only be described as psychic energy washes over them. Sebastian disappears. So does everything else.


	5. Fishnets, Heels, and Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alice starts taking things personally and she's the only one not wearing heels. She's fashionable anyway.

When Alice opens her eyes, she’s standing in what looks like a cubicle.

She’s facing a corkboard full of sticky notes and graphs. In the center is a sketch of a brain, pins sticking out of it at odd angles. Behind her is an orderly desk, with a computer and keyboard and a cup of pencils. A trashcan with a few wadded up papers rests beside it, but there’s nothing else to indicate the type of person that works here. Cookie-cutter, almost. Except for the lights being off.

In the corner, she spots the glow of light beyond the exit. She rounds the desk, intent on getting out of the cramped space and gaining her bearings. Instead, she gets Ruvik. Flickering into existence right in front of her. Again.

“Fuck!” she yelps and stumbles back into the desk.

He steps closer, close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off his body. She wonders if it’s because of the healed burns or because he’s pissed. She hasn’t seen him lacking one or the other, so it’s hard to discern.

“I gave you a job,” he says.

She swallows because _Christ, she almost forgot what his voice sounds like and holy shit just keep talking read me a phonebook for fuck’s sake…and oh shit that’s right his coat is **open** and he doesn’t wear a shirt beneath—_

Hello, earth to Alice. Ruvik’s being an asshole again.

“I’ve been doing it,” she replies.

“I’m not keeping you alive to fraternize.”

For a hot minute, she thinks he’s talking about her conversations (if they can be called that) with him. Her mouth drops open as she straightens from the desk, tilting her head back to look him in the face. She may be scared of him, but she if she’s going to die, it had better be for a good reason.

“ _Fraternizing?!_ You call trying to survive _fraternizing_?!”

His eyes narrow and he plants both hands on the desk on either side of her. Alice has to lean back against the edge to see him as he looms over her. Her heart stutters over the next beat. If this is an intimidation technique, it’s working. If this is a come-on…it’s working.

_Well, count me down as scared **and** aroused._

“Getting rather friendly with _Seb,_ aren’t you?”

That takes some of the wind out of her sails. If she didn’t know better (or was suicidal) she’d say he was jealous. However, knowing better and being rather fond of life, she offers up a different response.

Although it might not be any better.

“It’s common decency to know someone’s name in life or death situations.”

It’s probably her condescending tone that does it.

His hand darts up and she expects him to hit her, or maybe choke her again. Instead, his fingers tangle in her hair and jerk. It hurts just enough to make her eyes sting but oh. OH. _This might be doing something for her and now is **not the time**_ **.**

The blade he presses against her throat cools some of that sudden attraction. _Some_.

“Your purpose is not altruism. Keep your focus on Leslie, or I will manage him without you.”

She debates possible responses to that. The smart thing would be to say, “Yes, boss, you got it”. It would also be too easy and exactly what he wants and Alice (being Alice) isn’t in the business of either of those things.

“Well, Leslie wasn’t there and as we already discussed, _that_ wasn’t my fault.”

“You test my patience,” he growls.

Alice swallows. The movement reminds her of the blade pressed sharp and cold against her skin. A fine tremble begins along her body, and she’s not sure what the cause is anymore. Her mind feels hazy from a chaotic jumble of emotions. She struggles to form a coherent thought.

Up until this point, both arms have been supporting her against the desk. Now she raises one and curls her fingers around Ruvik’s wrist. She applies the barest pressure (careful of being too insistent), encouraging him to remove the blade. If she could just get some _distance_ between them.

“I-if you want me with Leslie, why did you bring me here?” she asks.

He smirks and her stomach tightens. Purely in fear. Fear. Nothing else. His arm doesn’t lower, but his grip in her hair eases, and the pressure on her neck lessens. That’s more than she expected, so she takes the opportunity to shift, to give her muscles a break. She tries to ignore how she brushes against him, tries to focus on the situation.

“I have a task for you. There is a female detective trapped in this building. I want you to find her.”

Alice’s brow furrows, trying to read between the lines.

“Why? Do you want me to…? I can’t kill someone in cold blood.”

His lip pulls back from his teeth but Alice holds firm, despite the threat of the blade still close.

“I don’t want you to kill her. I want you to find out what she knows about Leslie.”

As her expression smooths out, he pulls away, assured of her cooperation. Alice runs her fingers across her neck, double-checking that he didn’t break skin as her eyes land on the scalpel in his hand. A shiver travels her spine—she’s never been a fan of the way those look. Too sinister.

“Alright. And when I do?” Alice asks.

“I will know and return you to Leslie.”

She nods and gathers herself, glancing over his shoulder at the opening to the cubicle.

“I have other matters to attend to, I will not be protecting you.”

Her attention snaps back to him.

_Protecting me my ass!_

She glowers and crosses her arms over her chest

“Well I never asked for your protection, so—” _fuck off._ “—that’s just fine.”

Fat lot of good it would do her. What does he count as protection? Maniacs with chainsaws and zombies terrorizing her? Although she did go through the floor in that one town…

Oh. Oh, that was _him_. Huh.

Despite her “testing his patience”, Ruvik’s lips quirk in response to her comment.

“Is that so?” he asks.

She frowns, not understanding his sudden change in demeanor, but still offended.

“Yes. I can take care of myself.”

“Then in that case, I look forward to your success.”

With that parting challenge, he disappears. Used to it by now, she narrows her eyes and huffs, puffing her cheeks out. Stowing away the conversation for later contemplation, Alice creeps from the cubicle. It doesn’t seem to be the only one—looks like an office. She wonders if she’s in Krimson City again and doesn’t know if that counts as progress or regression.

And what exactly are they progressing towards, anyway? Alice can feel something building. A terrible climax is on the dark horizon and there’s nothing she or anyone else can do to stop it. Not when Ruvik has so much power and there’s an element she hasn’t seen yet, revolving Leslie. Is she ever going to get out of here? Is this nightmare ever going to _end?_

_Focus on the now. You’ve got a job to do and Ruvik to prove wrong._

Right. One thing at a time.

The offices are without electricity, meaning she can’t take the elevator when she concludes Kidman isn’t on her floor. There are vents to crawl through and Alice has to spend a few moments working up the courage to enter.

She can’t remember most of the nightmares brought on by her parasomnia.

She remembers the vents though.

_Claws scraping against metal. Walls closing in. Endless turns and corners with no escape. They’re right behind her. Right around every bend…_

God, she hates vents.

“Get it together, Alice. You’ve been afraid before,” she whispers to herself.

_Don’t be a chicken-shit._

Sucking in a breath, she jerks the grate open and crawls inside. The sound of her breathing, deep and shaky, fills the narrow space. It’s almost as loud as her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Of course Ruvik had to drop them off _here_ and she has to navigate like _this_.

When the vent drops off, Alice navigates herself down, bracing herself against opposite walls of the shaft and wiggling. When she touches down, she takes a few more twists and turns, until she hears noise ahead. Shuffling forwards, a pair of stiletto heels creep past the slats. A bright light shines through, nearly blinding her, and a woman begins cursing.

Recognizing Kidman’s voice, Alice bursts from her hiding place and pulls the gun from her waistband. The thing she points at is…well, it’s something.

_Ruvik, what in the ever-loving **fuck** is that?_

There’s a pair of (shapely) legs dressed in fishnets and heels, which is the only human part. The torso is covered by a ragged sheet, clamped in place beneath what looks like a spotlight. Jesus.

_The important question here is why it’s in fishnets and heels._

Not that she stops to ask. Alice fires a bullet right into a thigh and turns to Kidman.

“Run!”

They scramble around a conglomeration of database panels, crouching down as the creature wails and screeches. Across the room, the elevator dings and the doors open, bright, welcoming light spilling from the compartment.

“We go on three,” Kidman whispers, “One…two…”

The creature suddenly runs around the corner, heels clacking on the tile.

“Fuck! Three! Go!” Alice yelps.

They rush into the elevator, the doors sliding shut at the last moment. Each leans against a wall, trying to catch their breaths. Alice tips her head back to the ceiling, wondering if this is what Ruvik meant about her not having protection. Well, she’s survived this long, so he can kiss her ass.

_Bang!_

Alice cries out as the elevator shakes, the lights flickering. She shares a brief, wide-eyed look with Kidman, before whipping her gun out again and firing a shot into the elevator’s roof. It rocks again, a mechanical groan sounding in her ears as she loses her balance. Maybe she shouldn’t be shooting up—in case she hits the cables.

_This is **not** how I’m going out._

“Help me with the doors!” Alice shouts.

Kidman joins her and together they pry the elevator open. They’re between two floors. The upper one they can wriggle through the gap. Alice hops up, Kidman by her side, and they’re barely clear before the elevator snaps. The entire box drops, taking with it the lumpy form of the leg-monster crouching on the roof.

“What the actual _fuck?!_ ” Alice shrieks.

Kidman slides her a sideways look, shining the flashlight on her shaking form. Alice, ignoring her, kicks a fake plant over and proceeds to assault the plastic foliage.

“It seems like you’re taking this personally,” Kidman says.

Alice could do without the judgmental tone.

“I am!”

Turning from her artificial victim, she reloads her gun and takes stock of her remaining ammunition. Four extra bullets left. There had better be some extra bullets lying around this office or their screwed.

“Ruvik is just like every other deranged psychopath. He gets off on tormenting others.”

Which is true, but Alice pauses, eyebrows arching. Alright, so this doesn’t have to do with Leslie, but it’s not like she’s got a lot of information about Ruvik either. If she can find out _anything_ it’s better than the whole lot of nothing she’s operating with now.

“Ruvik? Who is he?” she asks, “That guy in the hoodie?”

Kidman nods, expression smooth and flat apart from the subtle downturn of her lips. Tough cookie, this one, but Alice has tagged along with Kendra enough times during her “interrogations” to know what to look for. An actress Alice is not, but she’s counting on Kidman not being on her A-game to detect deception.

“He has power in this place. You’d do well to steer clear of him if you can,” she says.

 _If only_.

“So he’s not like every other deranged psychopath,” Alice replies, “He can do things in…what even is this place?”

That didn’t even require any sort of acting ability. She really is as confused and wary as she sounds.

“It’s called STEM. I’m not even clear on what it does, but it seems to connect people’s minds.”

Alice freezes, a shiver wracking her spine.

No. No, it _can’t_. Alice doesn’t even want to be in her own mind, other people shouldn’t be subjected to it. As well as she can function in the daylight, Alice has some inkling of what lurks in the depths of her subconscious. There is Hell prowling among her neurons and in here, in _STEM_ , its simmering just below the surface.

Not to mention, that’s what was mentioned in that note in Robert Samuels’ file. It seems like weeks ago that she was snooping through Jimenez’s cabinets and found it. Leslie’s was in there too. Now she’s getting somewhere—even if she doesn’t like where she’s going.

“What is it?” Kidman asks.

“I-I just…that sounds like a lot of power for one man to have…” Alice replies, “How did he even get to be so powerful in here?”

“He was working on the machine.”

_He did **what** now?!_

Alice’s attention snaps and focuses on Kidman, but it’s too late. Her expression has shuttered, no more information forthcoming. That’s alright, the simple act of shutting herself up gives Alice one last tidbit—there’s an unknown third player involved.

“We need to keep moving,” Kidman says.

Alice nods, thoughts churning over this new information as they begin creeping through the building. So…they’re inside STEM, which is a machine that creates…what? A collective consciousness? Not right away, maybe—she’s still an individual, and so are the others—but perhaps over time. The monsters they encounter must have once been civilians like them.

And Ruvik worked on it. Hell, he might have created the whole thing, considering he’s the _only_ one able to bend physics to his will. People don’t just build these things on their own. They need funds, resources, _help_ at the very least to build a machine. Alice figures that’s where this third player comes in. Kidman is a part of it somehow, though how, Alice can’t be sure yet.

So is Jimenez, if his response to Ruvik was any indication. He seemed surprised, but he recognized Ruvik. Why? Did he…do something to Ruvik or did he just not expect him to control STEM? Of the seven of them (including Ruvik) who was brought here by design and who was an innocent bystander?

“What’s this?” Kidman asks.

Alice blinks from her musings. They’re in a lobby of some sort, with planters and chairs and big reception desk. Kidman is behind the last of these and Alice rounds the counter to join her. An old recorder is sitting on the desk by an empty mug of coffee, a cassette already loaded in.

“Think it plays?” Alice wonders.

Kidman hits the start button. There’s a moment of silence before a familiar voice begins speaking and Alice stiffens.

_“How are you feeling today, Alice?”_

A softer, younger voice replies and Alice swallows, eyes trained on the recorder. Eyes scanning the desk as if it will explain why this is here. Instead, she finds a paper-clipped transcript of the conversation and begins flipping through it.

_Alice: Tired. Mom says that I—it happened again._

_Doctor: Another night terror?_

_Alice: I was walking around this time. Mom says they found me on the roof. She says we should move my room to the guest room because I won’t be able to climb out from there._

She tries to remember this session, but they’ve all blurred together in her mind. From the sound of her voice in the recording, she was about ten or eleven, meaning she’d started puberty. At that time, the parasomnia reached its peak and a week didn’t go by that she wasn’t waking up screaming, or paralyzed, or not in her bed.

It was like this for two or three years, and the therapy sessions were just blips of occurrence. Many of them were recorded, because there was a chance she would fall asleep while the therapists wrote down her responses. Back then, she went through doctors like water too. She can’t remember this one’s name. Something starting with an L maybe…

_Doctor: Did you go through a window in your dream?_

There’s an audible sigh over the recording. The voice in the recording is bland but with the undercurrent of frustration that comes from answering the same question repeatedly.

_Alice: I don’t remember my dreams._

The doctor’s voice is light in that way that requests patience Alice never had energy for at that age.

_Doctor: You remember parts of them, sometimes. You’ve said you remember vents, fires, monsters in your room. You remember running from those things._

_Alice: That’s because I’m always running. There’s nothing else I can do._

_Doctor: No, I suppose not. What about your father? You’ve talked about your mother, but not your father._

There is a very long pause and Alice’s stomach clenches at the reminder.

_Alice: He’s…he’s tired too. So is mom. I guess it’s hard to sleep when I’m always screaming._

The Alice in the recording sounds strained and sad and way too old for her own good.

_Doctor: We don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want._

_Alice: I don’t want to._

_Doctor: Alright. Well, what would you—_

_Alice: Why is it getting worse? It wasn’t always this bad, was it?_

_Doctor: Well the onset of puberty often exacerbates a condition like yours._

_Alice: So...my brain hates me because I’m bleeding out every month?_

The doctor doesn’t seem to realize that that was her attempt at humor, but she can’t really be blamed. Alice did say it in a rather deadpan tone.

_Doctor: No, your brain doesn’t hate you. It’s just the chemicals and hormones in your body. It’s sort of…scrambling things up._

_Alice: So my brain is freaking out because I’m becoming an adult?_

_Doctor: That’s one way of putting it._

Another deep sigh and what sounds like shifting. There’s a few more moments of silence.

_Doctor: You have a very special case of parasomnia, Alice. You display a full battery of symptoms, but the causality is a mystery. Your partial amnesia isn’t unusual for parasomnia, except for what it is that you **do** recall._

_Alice: You have to use smaller words. I don’t understand._

The doctor chuckles but that time Alice wasn’t joking. She sounds tired and aggravated.

_Doctor: Your medical doctor has suggested brain scans but your parents haven’t taken you for them. I think I’m going to encourage them to do so._

_Alice: Okay. Maybe they’ll find something._

_Doctor: Well the hope is that they won’t._

_Alice: Why? At least if there’s something, we can try to fix it._

Hearing this exchange so many years later, Alice realizes the doctor’s following silence was an unspoken “there’s no fixing it”.

The recorder clicks as it shuts off. Glaring, Alice picks it up and hurls it into the wall, watching it shatter into pieces. It doesn’t help the burn in her chest, but it’s better than doing nothing. It’s an old feeling, a culmination of all the emotions associated with being broken and unable to do anything about it.

“Parasomnia?” Kidman asks.

“A sleep disorder. If STEM works the way you say it does, you better hope I don’t recognize anything in here.”

They travel in silence after that, Kidman tactful enough not to press Alice for more. They don’t happen across anymore recorders or papers regarding Alice’s condition. When she sees Ruvik again, she’s going to give him a piece of her mind. If he wants to fuck with her nightmares so bad, he can take a stroll through whatever part of STEM she’s contributed to.

It’s Kidman who brings Leslie up first.

“Have you seen that mental patient around? Leslie? He seemed really attached to you in the ambulance.”

Alice glances over at her but shakes her head. Pissed as she is at Ruvik, it’s in everyone’s best interest to find out where Kidman stands with Leslie. From the way he spoke of her, Ruvik seems to think she means Leslie harm.

“Not since the crash. Have you?” Alice replies.

“In flashes, but he always seems to…disappear.”

Well, that’s something. There were moments where Alice wasn’t with him. Does that mean he has some sway in this place? She thinks of the cabin and that moment where she couldn’t tell if he was Ruvik or Leslie. What could that mean, though?

“How? I thought only Ruvik could mess with things in here?” Alice asks.

Kidman shakes her head, brows drawing together. It’s the most emotion she’s shown, which sets Alice on alert.

“They have some sort of connection. I think…never mind. Let’s just get out of this building and find him…and the others.”

Alice doesn’t let her gaze linger. No need to be so damn obvious that she’s suspicious. So Kidman is looking for Leslie and she seems to realize that there’s something strange going on with him and Ruvik. Kidman isn’t forthcoming, but Alice tries anyway.

“You don’t think…Leslie is dangerous, do you? I mean, he’s just a kid…”

He’s actually in his twenties, but with his mental impediments, he might as well be. Body of a man, mind of a child. Sometimes it weirds her out to think that he would actually be taller than her if he stood up straight.

“I think he could be,” Kidman says.

Which is enough of an answer. If Kidman decides Leslie is a threat, she’ll eliminate him and Alice can’t have that. However he’s connected to Ruvik, it’s not his fault and he shouldn’t be left unprotected.

“I hope not,” Alice replies.


	6. Only So Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a serious note: Alice has some subconscious trauma that no one anticipated. Also, Juli can fuck right off at this juncture.
> 
> Later: Alice gets sick of Ruvik's shit. It's a night of sharing all around.

Alice figures she’s found out what Ruvik wanted, but he hasn’t reappeared and the longer she spends in Kidman’s company, the more anxious she gets. There are shadows following them, screens that show a dark figure and play snatches of conversation. Kidman keeps looking at her like…like she’s becoming a liability.

And she probably is, considering what she’s pulling together from all these clues.

They crawl through another set of vents and as they exit; Alice’s scans the new environment. A cold chill freezes her blood as she recognizes the long hallway, the construction paper drawings plastered to its walls. Her distraction is enough that Kidman snatches the gun from her waistband before Alice can stop her.

“You’re in league with him.”

“Kidman—”

“I don’t know how, but you’re with _him_. And even if you’re not, you’re dangerous to me now.”

Alice’s heart slams against her ribcage, but it has little to do with the gun pointed at her. She swallows, puts her hands up because that’s all she _can_ do. The skittering has started, audible because she’s listening for it. Her eyes dart to the vent, to the ceiling, down the hall. Kidman hasn’t noticed yet.

Now that Alice is here, now that she’s _back_ , it’s all returning to her.

“P-please,” she says, “not here.”

“What do you mean? We’re all going to die in here anyway Just be glad you won’t suffer—”

The music starts, tinny through the overhead speakers. Alice’s hands are slick with sweat. She couldn’t hold the gun even if she got it back now.

_“Hush-a-bye baby on the tree top…”_

Alice flinches, shrinking in on herself. Kidman’s eyes widen, the gun flagging as she finally gets with the program.

 _Hey, yes, nice of you to join us RIGHT BEFORE WE FUCKING DIE_.

 _“When the wind blows, the cradle will rock…_ ”

“Do…you recognize any of this?” she asks.

Alice covers her ears with her palms, but the music only gets louder, sharper. The singing child’s voice is patchy with static but discernible.

_“When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall…”_

The scrabbling of claws on metal sounds louder, coming from the ceiling and vents and at the windows overhead. It fills her up, makes her shake hard enough to fall apart. Tears well and slip from her eyes.

“I recognize all of it.”

 _“And down will fall baby, cradle and all._ ”

The first of the creatures bursts from the vent, scarlet and sticky, knobby appendages cracking at jagged angles. Kidman yells and fires a bullet at it, a puddle of the red substance left behind. Alice feels a scream building in her chest.

_Run run run run RUN **RUN!**_

Alice turns and bolts, not caring for her gun or for Kidman or for anything other than escape. Why protect Kidman, anyway? She’s got a gun (not that it’ll be much good) and she was going to kill Alice in the first place.

“Wait!” Kidman shouts.

_“Ring around the rosy…”_

Alice bolts past the first of the doors. The creatures release a terrible gurgling noise as they burst from the classrooms, knocking over child-sized desks. She jumps as one swipes at her legs.

_“A pocketful of posies…”_

Glass shatters over her head, the shards pricking her skin, embedding in her hair. If she looks over her shoulder, she knows they’ll be crawling in over the sills, sticking to the walls and ceiling like demented spiders.

_“Ashes, ashes…”_

A ceiling panel collapses right in front of her, a creature attached to it. Its mouth is full of crooked mismatched teeth, all out of order but recognizably human. She screams and stumbles as she darts to the right, crashing through a classroom door. Gunshots sound off behind her.

_“We all fall down!”_

Bodies descend from the ceiling, blackened and putrid in death. Their necks hang at awkward angles, suspended on intestines for ropes. Organs spill onto the floor, making the linoleum slick and squishy. Alice gags, tears streaking her cheeks as she navigates to a second door.

_“Let’s play, Alice! Alice, Alice…Alice in wonderland.”_

Slamming the door behind her, she ducks down in the nook under the teacher’s desk. She’s just hidden when the creatures catch up, splintering the wooden door beneath their assault. Her breaths come harsh and fast and she presses her palm to her mouth, hoping to stifle any noise. Curling into a ball, she squeezes her eyes shut and hopes STEM hasn’t made them smarter than they used to be.

The noise dies down some, not the thundering hoard it was. Then she hears it. One of them scrabbling around the room. The wet cracking sounds grow closer and closer. The desk groans beneath its weight. Its head slowly descends over the edge, black sockets gaping. Screaming, she scrambles from her hiding place and struggles to her feet, knees weak.

The monster lets out a shriek and she knows its following and she’s never been faster than them and oh, god, oh, god they always caught her in dreams. Always got her.

She’s not going to wake up this time.

“OOF!”

Alice runs into something and hits the floor. Shit, she was barely ahead of it before, but now…

“I thought you said you could take care of yourself.”

Her head jerks up, eyes wide. Ruvik is standing before her, as unruffled as always. Before she can even think to respond, the creature grips her ankle and drags her back. She yelps and wiggles onto her back, cursing and kicking.

“Alice…” it burbles.

It opens its mouth, intent on taking a chunk out of her. Instead, it bursts into pieces, splattering the walls and ceiling and, of course, Alice herself. She stares, dumbfounded, at the empty space, chest heaving.

And then she sobs.

Soaked in sweat and tears and whatever those monsters were, she draws her knees up with her arms and cries into them. Movement to her right draws her attention. Wiping at her eyes, she glances up. Ruvik is standing in front of her again, staring in that calculating way he has.

Then, with great deliberateness, he holds out a hand to her.

She takes it.

 

When Alice wakes, she’s lying on a bed. Sitting up, she finds her clothes clean, the bumps and bruises she’s sustained gone. The room she’s in is small and devoid of other occupants. There’s a desk across from the bed, a lamp glowing warm golden light. To her left is a little nightstand and against the wall there’s a wardrobe. To her right is an armchair.

It takes her a moment to remember how she got here. The school. The creatures. A shiver travels down her spine, but there’s not much left in her for fear. Coming face to face with childhood trauma has left her numb.

Now, what happened after she panicked and screamed a lot? That’s right, running and running until she ran into Ruvik and he…

_What exactly did he do?_

He saved her, that’s what he fucking did. He must have, because those things don’t just _explode_. Not to mention, she wasn’t dreaming the hand he extended her. Why? Alice pisses him off any time they interact. He’s already made it clear that he doesn’t _need_ her protecting Leslie, and Kidman is expendable.

_Hot and cold, that one._

He’s not even here for her to interrogate, that inconsiderate bastard! Well, there’s no point in waiting around. Alice should get moving before something discovers her. He may have saved her from her own nightmares, but there’s no accounting for any of his.

Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, Alice gets to her feet. And finds herself barefoot. Her shoes and socks are nowhere in sight. Right, because that’s going to stop her. She rolls her eyes and stalks to the door. Poking her head into the hallway, a sigh of relief pushes from her lungs when she finds it empty.

Padding down the hall as stealthily as she can, she glances over her shoulder and sticks close to the wall out of habit. Facing no trouble, Alice discovers the door around the corner from a massive library. Though she wants to investigate (this place feels important) Alice chooses to move on.

The door opens to a hallway caged in by a railing on one side. Ahead and to the left are more doors, but to the right is a staircase. Two staircases, actually. She takes one of the latter. In the foyer, her slow brain finally concludes that she’s in a big-ass mansion.

_Well then._

The double doors ahead of her swing open. Now, that should be her cue to turn around, return upstairs, and go straight back to bed. Instead, Alice walks inside. The doors swing closed behind her and her heart skips a beat, but it’s obligatory, if that’s possible. She’s not afraid, not yet.

Stretching out ahead of her is a long hallway. Alice walks the length of it, fingers brushing along the walls as she goes. It’s dead silent and after everything that’s happened, she appreciates the lack of stimuli. Finally, she reaches the end and pushes through a door.

The watery blue specter of a boy sits in a chair before her. He’s bent over a desk and murmuring to himself about peeling and cures. It’s uncomfortably similar to Valerio Jimenez back in Elk River. When she approaches, the image dissolves and she glances around the room, spotting a doorway. She descends the steps and follows the twists and turns of the hallway until she’s confronted with another door.

Nudging it open, the entire space flickers from a well-furnished room to a barn. Two specters appear this time—the boy from before and now an older girl. Alice blinks, watching the girl circle the boy with a grin on her face.

“Laura, where are you?” the boy says, “I know you’re in here, I can hear you breathing.”

A moment later, he finds her and the two embrace with the familiarity of siblings. Despite everything that’s happened, Alice’s heart melts a little. Cute! She wishes she had such a relationship with her family.

A sound from outside snags her attention.

She slips to the doors and peeks through a crack. A group of men are standing in front of it, expressions drawn and dark. Some are holding torches, others are lugging containers of what smells like…gasoline. Her heart stops. No…no, they wouldn’t.

“Rich bastards, think they can buy up all our land,” one says.

“They need to be shown who really owns these parts,” another replies.

Alice’s eyes narrow.

“Don’t fucking do it,” she mutters.

Of course, they can’t hear her. Even if they did, she doubts they’d listen. Behind her, the ghosts are still playing, climbing up onto the second story and dropping onto the hay bales below. It’s clear that they’re oblivious to the group outside. Some of the men start splashing gasoline around the base of the structure and Alice’s stomach turns over.

“Hey, I think I hear kids in there.”

Any relief she feels is short-lived.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

And then everything is on fire. For a moment, the two ghosts become solid. The boy is blond and blue-eyed and more dapper than some of the men Alice has dated. Laura shares her brother’s eyes but her hair is dark as midnight and she’s wearing a long red dress. They’re both fair-skinned and delicate-featured.

“Ruben!” she shouts.

The boy, Ruben, is screaming, his clothes and hair on fire. Alice clenches her jaw as Laura helps her brother to the second story and pushes him out through the window. It’s too late for her though, Alice knows it before she even starts shrieking in pain. The whole scene glitches and disappears, leaving her shivering in the middle of the foyer, facing the double doors again.

Arms tucked close to her body, Alice collects herself from seeing such a horrid spectacle. They were just kids, and for them to burn that whole thing with Laura and Ruben inside…

“Those motherfuckers.”

That can’t be all. There must be more to this mess. There’s no mistaking that that boy was an early incarnation of the one and only Ruvik, but there are pieces missing. How does _that_ become the homicidal sadist tormenting them? On a mission, she goes tearing through the rest of the house, triggering more little displays with the specters.

One in which Ruvik—Ruben—meets Marcelo Jimenez as a boy.

 _So he’s always had a head for science and experimentation_.

One in which Ruvik—or maybe he’s still Ruben, in this one—has slain his parents. She notes the bandages encasing him as well. Still an early version of him, she assumes.

_His father was kind of a douche from what I gather. Fuck, so was mine. I never wanted to kill him—but he never locked me in the basement, either. Even if he wanted to._

The last one is of Jimenez and Ruvik in an argument, about resources and money and stupid bureaucratic matters. She doesn’t fail to notice that Ruvik’s playing Claire de Lune when the doctor confronts him.

_I’m still missing things._

She knows it. There’s no mention of this third party. No mention of Leslie or STEM. Where did it start? How did Ruvik end up here and when did he graduate to his current state? Huffing, Alice circles back to the room she started in. There’s a second room attached to it, this one somehow more feminine and it clicks.

_Ruben and Laura’s rooms. He left me in his childhood bedroom?_

When she returns from Laura’s room, Ruvik is standing by the bed. Alice blinks but doesn’t stop until she’s standing in front of him, head tilted to meet his pale gaze.

“You’ve been busy.”

He sounds…strange. Like he wants to be angry, or he could be angry, but he’s mostly curious.

“Your eyes are lighter than they were as a kid,” she replies.

If the observation bothers him, it doesn’t show in his expression. She doesn’t move away; he doesn’t move at all. Doesn’t even seem to breathe. It’s like he’s waiting. For what? Disgust? Pity?

“You know, there’s a lot I could say about all this…” she starts.

He arches an eyebrow, eyes flashing. Alice takes a small step back and shrugs.

“But it’s none of my damn business.”

He stays silent, observing her with a blank expression.

“There’s nothing I can do about your past and I’m in no place to judge,” she continues.

It’s true. Alice had a fucked up childhood, but it had its good moments. At least she _had_ a childhood. Ruvik’s life is his life and even though he’s currently fucking hers up, his journey to this point doesn’t need an analysis.

Without a word, he takes a step forwards, closing the already small distance between them. Alice isn’t sure if the rage in his eyes is what’s always there, or if he’s pissed she’s been prying. He shouldn’t have dumped her unattended in his house if he wanted privacy.

“I don’t know what you expect of me,” she says, frustrated, “so quit staring like that.”

That intense gaze is finally worming through the calm haze she’s been in.

“Do you think I want your approval? You think I want you to absolve me of my sins?” he snarls, “You think I would want _you_ to change anything in my past?”

Alice’s mouth drops open. Then she narrows her eyes and runs her tongue over her teeth, clenching her hands into fists.

“I think you need to get over yourself! I’ve got other things to worry about, Ruvik,” she snaps.

She shouldn’t be provoking him. She knows she shouldn’t. Alice would also like to survive this whole mess, thanks very much. But fear is a funny thing. Some people sing; some people yell. For her, fear makes her reckless. Her brain tries to cope by turning it into something funny—hence the stream of inane comments, both verbal and nonverbal.

But there’s only so much fear she can handle. Only so much her mind can cope with.

“Why the fuck let me see it, if you’re just going to be pissed about my reaction?” she demands, “What did you expect? For me to say ‘oh, you poor thing’?”

His eyes narrow and his hand clamps down on her shoulder, pushing her back against the wall. It does little more than make the fire burning in her belly brighter. She shoves at his arm. Not that it pushes him off, but it shows she’s not just going to sit back and cower anymore.

“Or did you want me to get pissed off? Want me to say ‘Ruvik, you took it too far six murders ago’? Well, I’m pissed, but it’s because you’re using your past as an excuse to hurt me.”

He bears his teeth and looms over her, fingers digging painfully into her shoulder. It hurts, but it’s manageable.

“Shut your mouth!” he growls.

“No! I’m sick of being scared of you! I’m sick of playing to your tune! If you’re going to do something, then do it! You don’t need an excuse!”

He slams her back into the wall again, hard. Her head knocks against it, but that’s a manageable pain too. She glares up at him, her hand still on his arm. They’re both breathing heavy, chests brushing. Inhaling deep, she tries to think past the red haze in her mind. Her voice is quieter this time, but still hard.

“Why did you bring me here, Ruvik?”

Narrowing his eyes, he takes a moment to answer.

“You were unconscious. I didn’t want to have to babysit you.”

Alice snorts, soft but still audible, and Ruvik looks taken aback for a brief moment.

_Did I manage to throw off the edge-lord for a second?_

Curious as to where this new tactic will take her, she continues, voice softening.

“There must have been other places. Or you could have left me with Seb—”

His free hand grips onto her jaw, cutting off the rest of the name. Ruvik’s eyes are narrow again, mouth set into a severe, displeased line. If she didn’t know better (or was suicidal)…

 _Apparently, I don’t know better_.

“You’re mine. To do with as I please,” he says.

Her heart trips over itself and a new heat floods her, having nothing to do with their argument. At this moment, she wishes she could look away, because she knows her pupils dilate. And he sees it. And he smirks. His hand moves from her jaw to brush his finger down her cheek. Despite herself, her eyelids flutter, the pleasant sensation like heaven after the experiences she’s been through.

_You’ve gotta be kidding me._

“I thought you were sick of being afraid of me,” he taunts.

 _Don’t correct him_.

“I’m not afraid.”

_Fuck._

He stares at her, realizing that she’s not just bluffing. She flicks her gaze away, looking anywhere but at him as she shifts, feeling slick between her legs. The silence drags on and a healthy dose of embarrassment courses through her.

_Great, so he confused fear with arousal and I’m standing here turned on..._

She peers at him from her peripheral and he’s smirking.

Oh. Oh no.

She sucks in a breath as the hand on her shoulder slides down to her waist.

“What’s the matter then? Was it something I said?”

For a brief moment, she thinks he actually doesn’t fucking know and she looks at him directly again.

_Trap! It was a trap!_

The hand on her cheek returns to her jaw, forcing her to stay and a shiver travels down her spine. His other arm snakes around her waist and jerks her forward, crushing her hips against his. She gasps, her hands flying up to clench onto the fabric of his ruined coat.

“Well? I asked you a question.”

“I think I just got lost, somewhere around the part where I belong to you…”

And _ugh_ , she sounds breathless like some helpless heroine, but she’s finding it a little hard to breathe. Not good. This is a not good situation. Ruvik is dangerous. And not dangerous in that male-love-interest type of way, where he smokes cigarettes and gets into fist fights and all those quaint little things from shitty romances.

Ruvik has _killed_ people. He’s _tortured_ and _experimented_ on people. He’s sadistic and malicious and all-powerful inside STEM. She knows this, understands the implications…and she thinks he’s _really_ fucking hot.

_Goddammit brain._

“You are mine.”

She shivers again, breath leaving her in a rush as an ache settles between her legs. Her teeth sink into her lip, hoping a bit of pain will set her to rights, but nope. She can barely even feel it. Ruvik’s thumb brushes her bottom lip, and she releases it when she feels a gentle tug. Their mouths are a hairsbreadth apart and Alice wants to drink him down like a glass of water.

“You belonged to me as soon as you stepped foot inside Beacon.”

That shouldn’t be hot. She should be pissed, because he’s not saying it in a sexy, just-for-the-bedroom kind of way. Does that mean it still doesn’t make her wet? No. No, of course not.

“And I will do with you what I please.”

“Then do it,” she whispers.

And _oh does he…_


	7. Get Laid in the Name of Science (and Survival)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No salads exposed to sex.
> 
> Alice gets some stress relief from all the BS and Ruvik...well, Ruvik is himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the part where I warn people that smut is ahead.

“And I will do with you what I please.”

“Then do it,” she whispers.

And _oh does he._

Ruvik’s mouth crashes into hers, hard enough that her lip splits. The coppery taste of blood fills her mouth. His tongue darts out, hot and wet, tracing over the little injury. Not one to deny temptation, Alice opens her mouth to him, a quiet, pleased sound escaping her as his teeth scrape her lip.

It’s a savage, filthy kiss, tongue and teeth and his hand tangling in her hair to guide her just how he wants. It’s the best she’s ever had and god, she wants more. Unlatching her hands from his coat, Alice trails her fingers over Ruvik’s chest, ignoring the way he stiffens beneath her touch until he stops kissing her.

“C’mon,” she murmurs, “don’t be shy now. I’m not going to be.”

To prove her point, she drops a hand to the bulge in his pants and cups him. His breathing hitches just noticeably and she grins as he grinds against her palm. The victory is short lived. He jerks her head back to bear her throat and sets about sucking and nipping and kissing his way down her neck. She moans when he finds the sensitive spot beneath her ear and pays special attention to leave what will undoubtedly be a dark mark.

“Fuck. Ruvik…”

She gasps as he nips at her pulse point and grabs her ass all at once. Whatever she’d been about to say disintegrates, words failing as he stokes the fire burning her from the inside out with his tongue. When she digs her nails into his shoulder and he hisses, she finally remembers what she wanted.

“The bed,” she says, shoving at him.

He pulls back and looks down at her, pupils blown and lips smeared with her blood. She leans up and licks at them, figuring it’s hers so it doesn’t really matter. Besides, the way he grips onto her is worth any aversion she has to the taste.

“Bed,” she insists.

He growls and picks her up. Without hesitation, she wraps her legs around his waist and grinds down against his erection. They both moan, electric sparks ricocheting through her.

“I won’t get anywhere if you keep that up, you little minx,” he says.

She flashes a grin before circling her arms around his neck and kissing him again. His hands grip onto her hips and press her hard against him as he turns and walks towards the bed. When he stops, she unravels herself from around him so he can toss her onto the mattress.

Bouncing as she lands, she’s only mildly surprised to find that they’ve moved to the master bedroom. More important things demand her attention, though. Like the way Ruvik licks his lips as he takes in her splayed form. Very important.

She starts tugging her shirt over her head, but he pounces and pins her arms to the bed, on either side of her head. A hot thrill runs through her, making her bold. Quicker than he expects, she opens her legs and wraps them around his waist, tugging him down. There’s a bright spark in her eyes that promises trouble.

“Unwrap me yourself, but do it quick,” she says.

“Do not tell me what to do,” he growls.

She groans and wriggles against him, creating delicious friction between their bodies. The kiss he initiates is just as rough and dominating as the first, and Alice yields until the hold on her wrists loosens. Slipping her arms free, she throws them over his shoulders. His attention turns to her shirt. In a fit of rage, he rips it open.

_Well fuck, that’s the only shirt I have._

Sacrifices must be made in the name of science. Or bedding Ruvik. Same thing, in this case. Shrugging out of the tattered remains, Alice sighs, feeling his torso against hers. Yes. Good. More skin on skin contact. Ruvik must have the same idea, because an impatient scowl flashes across his face before their clothes disappear altogether.

“Oh!”

She glances down at her naked body, startled, and then up at his eagerly. He’s a patchwork of smooth, pale skin and ridges of scar tissue, but she’s accustomed to their angry red appearance. More impressive is that his body is toned and muscular despite his being an absolute bookworm. What else was he doing in that basement? Booty Bootcamp?

And even _more_ impressive is his cock. Miraculously, it doesn’t share in the carnage, though the scars stretch across his thighs and very, very close. Maybe it’s a STEM thing? Either way, she’s not complaining.

“Oh, my.”

She glances at his face, and realizes perhaps she should explain the intimidated expression on her face. Now is not the time for miscommunications.

“You…you’re gonna have to prep me first because you are _gracious_ down there and I haven’t done this in _long time_.”

Understanding dawns across his features, followed by a deep, raspy chuckle that assures her lubrication _will not_ be problem. Christ, it must be STEM that’s intensifying everything, because Alice has never wanted someone as badly as she does Ruvik right now. Once more, their mouths collide in a heated kiss before he trails lower.

His tongue teases circles around her nipple until he finally takes the sensitive bud between his lips. A quiet moan eases from her throat as pleasure shoots down her spine. Alice’s hands drop to the mattress, clenching the sheets in her fists. Ruvik’s hand—the one not pinning her hips down—cups the other breast, pinching and massaging while she arches beneath him.

“Ruvik,” she pants, “Ruvik, touch me. Please.”

He smirks against her skin. Though her eagerness is pleasing, Ruvik plans on taking his time. She has been driving him insane—well, more insane—with every obstacle he’s thrown at her. Too bold and clever for her own good, the vixen. That maddening upward curve of her lips, the pulses of amusement in her mind even when he threatens her…just the way she _moves_.

It’s pushing him to distraction. He can’t afford to be distracted. Not so close to his goal. He’s going to get her out of his system once and for all. This way, when her usefulness has expired, he will not feel as if he has missed an opportunity.

The only difficulty is the need searing through his own veins. She’s so warm and wet and soft beneath him, and it’s melting through Ruvik’s iron-clad self-control. If she’d just _lay still_.

“I will tie you down if I must,” he warns.

He expects cooperation. He gets the opposite. Alice gasps and writhes beneath him, mouth twisting into a teasing grin. Slender fingers trail down his abdomen, heedless of the rough scar tissue, until he restrains them over her head again.

“Ooh, yeah?” she replies, “If you’re into it, I’m on board. Just maybe not barbed wire? I’ve noticed you kinda have a thing for it.”

He stares down at her, distantly aware that he should be offended by her amusement. Despite that, she’s genuine in her response, even enthusiastic. She would let _him_ tie her down? She would allow herself to be so vulnerable to him? Ruvik surrenders to temptation, curious to test her resolution. Thick chains and manacles materialize from the wall, clamping around her wrists and guiding her arms over her head.

Though her heartbeat flutters, there’s no fear in her features or brain pattern. She tilts her head back, inspecting her restraints, and gives them an experimental tug. Being made for creatures stronger and heavier than her, they hold firm. Alice turns back to him with what can only be approval.

Ruvik sits back on his heels, drinking in the sight of her. Auburn hair a haloed mess, bare flesh flushed and feverish, lips bitten red and kiss-swollen, brown eyes half-lidded and glazed over…she looks almost angelic. Even (or maybe especially) chained down with him cradled between her thighs.

“ _Ruvik._ ”

There’s a note of exasperation in her voice. He watches the way her plush bottom lip pushes out just slightly, in an unmistakable pout. Chuckling, he ducks down to kiss along her thighs. She goes very still, breath ragged. He glances up as he sucks a livid mark over a sensitive spot, their eyes meeting. Teeth sunk into her lower lip, she’s staring back, eyes wide and hungry.

“Mine,” he growls.

She whimpers and shifts, her other thigh brushing soft as silk against his cheek. He loops his arm around it and lavishes it with the same attention, skirting closer and closer to her core. A fine tremble wracks her lithe form, soft little sounds mixed with his name dripping from her mouth. At last, he can deny neither of them any longer.

He draws his tongue up the length of her slit, circling his tongue around her clitoris at the top. Her reaction is so instantaneous, Ruvik barely manages to lock his arms around her legs to hold them still. A high, pleasured keen bursts from her, vision blurring. Ruvik is more than happy to continue, registering every reaction, every movement and pattern and speed and spot that makes her writhe.

His tongue works over her clit in particular, noting how her back arches and her moans crescendo. First in repetitive shapes, working her up and up until he realizes the rhythm is pushing her towards orgasm. Not wanting her to give over just yet, he reverts to scientific formulas. The irregularity keeps her on the edge and so familiar to him they require no thought.

It also allows him to remember he’s painfully hard, cock as yet untouched. Ruvik is a patient man, but he’s not without limits.

Remembering her warning about preparation, he shifts and nudges a finger inside her. Alice yelps and for a moment he thinks he’s hurt her. And then it diverges into a guttural moan.

Alice, for her part, can’t remember coherent words beyond _good_ and _Ruvik_ and _please_. Sentences are beyond her capabilities—she’s lucky Ruvik’s mouth is otherwise occupied. And speaking of his mouth—

Another bolt of pleasure crackles through her as he adds a second finger and crooks them inside her. Combined with the wonders his clever tongue are working on her clit, she gets a bit light-headed.

“ _Yes_!” she shouts.

Oh, look, there’s another word she knows.

“Don’t you dare come yet,” he says.

His voice, already deep and raspy and perfect for sex hotlines, sounds like he’s two seconds from fucking her unconscious. God, she hopes he is. She moans and jerks her head in a nod, trying to focus on the cool metal binding her wrists. A difficult task that becomes impossible when he stretches her with a third finger.

The first two were easy, slick and relaxed as she was. Three, though, that’s something else. A gasp punches from her lungs at the stretch. Not painful, not really, but it adds an edge to the pleasure that nearly pushes her that last little bit.

“You have to slow down,” she pants, “or I’m going to— _ah_!”

The look on his face makes a shiver race down her spine. She’s never had a lover demand orgasm delay—at least not for this long. But if she doesn’t hold it together…well. There’s a promise on his face that she’s going to regret it. The thought is equal parts delicious and foreboding.

“If you do, I _will_ punish you.”

She whimpers, desperate tears collecting in her eyes before she squeezes them shut. Despite his threats, he has slowed down, pumping his fingers…slowly…deliberately. At least he’s not using his mouth anymore—although she’s having a hard time convincing herself that that’s 100% a good thing.

Alice digs her heel in his thigh and glares. Well…she tries to glare.

“That doesn’t _help_.”

If she’s surprised him again, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he seems rather amused and pleased by her response. People (probably, usually) don’t respond this way when he threatens them. Alice doesn’t care. She wants to hold it together because as much as she wants to orgasm, she wants to meet Ruvik’s challenge more.

“Then let’s try something else.”

He removes his fingers and she watches as he licks each one clean, tongue curling around the digits. Alice lets out a sound she didn’t think she was capable of, something wounded and desperate and _really pornographic_. Tilting her head, she squeezes her eyes shut and hides her face against her upper arm.

Ruvik’s palms run flat up her spread thighs and then around to her ass, squeezing and lifting her hips. Her breath hitches, heart thundering in her chest. Cracking one eye open, she peeks down the length of her sweating, flushed body to see his cock rubbing against her entrance.

“Look at me, Alice.”

Powerless to deny him, she forces herself to meet his pale eyes. His gaze is intense, pinning her down as he lines up and pushes the first inch inside her. And then the next. And then the next. Even prepared, there’s tightness and stretching, but he feels so _good_. Everything feels so good. She may be babbling all this aloud. She’s not sure.

The final inch and a half is seated with a sharp thrust. Bright spots appear in her vision, and she’s not sure if that’s because she’s forgotten to breath or because of the pleasure that bursts inside her. Alice doesn’t usually care about size as long as her partner knows how to work the equipment (so to speak) but Ruvik fills her up in all the right ways, hits all the right spots just being inside her.

It’s maddening, both too much and not enough and she teeters on the edge.

“Fuck,” she gasps, “fuck, fuck, fuck, don’t move.”

If he does, she’s definitely going to come and she wants to enjoy this part to the fullest. Not that he is—moving, that is. Ruvik is frozen and half-bent over her, fingers gripping onto her so hard there will be bruises. After a few moments, the danger passes and Alice breathes a little easier.

“So tight,” he murmurs, “so warm.”

As sweet as the compliments are, she’s getting impatient. Now that he’s stuffed hot and hard inside her, she’s back to wanting more. Wants to feel him moving, feel that power. She wiggles her hips and clenches down, both fascinated and satisfied when he grunts, eyes snapping up.

“Ready?” he asks, voice rough.

“Don’t hold back,” she replies.

He flashes a grin that makes her heart stumble. Then he rocks his hips back and _slams_ into her. A shout bursts from her because _oh yes this is exactly what she wanted and he better not stop_.

He doesn’t.

Thrusting hard and fast, the whole bed rocks as Ruvik drives into her, over and over. Alice locks her legs around his waist and tries to match his rhythm as best she can. Broken sounds and gasps pass between them freely now.

“Look at you,” he rumbles.

How is he still talking? God, Alice can barely untangle her brain enough to understand him, never mind responding.

“So responsive. So _needy_ for me.” He punctuates this with a hard jerk inside her that makes her cry out.

“What would your friends think if they saw you now, hmm? Gasping and begging, impaled on my cock.”

She didn’t think Ruvik would be one for dirty talk but _Christ_. Not that he has to try very hard with his voice like this, but does he need to talk to her like that when she’s trying to draw things out? A moan is all she can reply with, but a ( _small)_ coherent part of her makes her clench down as he’s rocking inside her and whatever else he’s about to say falters.

As retribution—or maybe as a reward? The lines are blurring—he guides one of her legs over his shoulder. The new angle does (GREAT) things for both of them. He thrusts deeper, harder (if that’s physically possible) and rams the fat head of his cock right into her G-spot.

“There!” she cries, “Oh god, right there! Please, don’t stop! Please, please…”

For once he listens and his name, with a litany of curses and begging, becomes her mantra as she rushes towards her peak.

“Let me come, Ruvik,” she babbles, “need to come…”

The thumb of his free hand finds her clit again and rubs, fast and harsh to match his thrusts.

“Come for me,” he says.

That’s all it takes. Lights and colors she’s never seen before explode across her vision. She may be cursing or screaming or telling him her social security—she doesn’t care because there’s something hot as the sun burning through her veins. Distantly, she’s aware of him reaching release as well, her name on his lips, his release spurting inside her.

When she comes down, Ruvik’s still there and, surprisingly, he stays.


	8. Parasomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alice and Ruvik have a heart to heart...which is immediately ruined by Ruvik being an ass.

Ruvik pulls away from Alice and rolls onto the sheets beside her, chest heaving. The world shook when he orgasmed (literally, as trite as that sounds)—even now, everything is off kilter. He readjusts it as Alice catches her breath. When he glances down at her, she’s blinking at the ceiling. Feeling his eyes on her, she shifts to look at him.

“The chains?” she asks.

Her voice is soft and gravelly from screaming, but filled with content. Though he likes seeing her bound to his bed, he acquiesces to her request. They unlock and slither away with a quiet rattle. Alice holds her arms above her and rubs at her wrists, but they don’t appear too injured. Humming, she rolls onto her stomach and folds them beneath her head.

Basking in the euphoric post-orgasmic hormones, Alice seems to glow as the sweat cools on her skin. Her eyelids flutter shut, but Ruvik knows she’s still awake. Without thought, his hand strokes down the length of her back, following the curve of her spine to her tailbone. A raised patch interrupts the smooth skin and makes him pause.

Of course, he expected that Alice has acquired scars throughout her life. Everyone does. The placement is so strange, however, that he feels along its length—a thick horizontal line to the right of her spine.

“I got caught on a bent nail crawling beneath a fence,” she says.

Curious now, Ruvik begins the same circuit in reverse. If he wasn’t searching, he’d never notice them. He certainly wouldn’t have felt them with his useless, deadened skin outside of STEM. As it is, his fingertips perceive the scars like the fine-tuned instruments they are—irregularities in the epidermis over her shoulder blades.

Soft, smooth patches on each one, stretched thin and taught with growth. Alice earned these at a young age. His investigation leads him over the joint itself, then down her triceps, biceps. He stops at the indent of a small circle, the texture of it all too familiar. When his eyes shift to confirm, he’s arrested by her own gaze along the way.

“What happened?” he asks.

She exhales through her nose and shifts so she can speak without her voice muffled.

“As you know, I have parasomnia.”

He arches his eyebrows. He did not know that, but it explains…much, in fact. The possibility never occurred to him because it is so rare for an adult to experience it; and they never figured into his research. Ruvik had assumed her mind was closed off to him for some strange reason, but it seems it’s closed off to her as well.

Or it was, until STEM’s programming dragged it all out into the light. That must be why the school affected her where other locations had seemed like child’s play. Those monsters too, were unfamiliar to him. Manifestations of her own brain, then. This must be why she handles her own fear so well.

“When I was younger, it was much worse than it is now. At its worse, I would…well, I’d do all sorts of things. Sometimes my brain thought things were on me, or in me, and I’d hurt myself trying to get rid of them.”

His hand travels back to the patches and thin lines at her shoulders. Scratch marks, then. More than once, no doubt, for them to last into adulthood, unless she renews them even now. Her voice has taken on a strange tone; Ruvik knows there’s more.

“What else?” he asks.

“Well, I sleep-walked a lot, too. It’s easy for people like me to run into walls or walk into traffic... I had a nasty habit of escaping the house and hiding. I can’t remember how many times my mom went into a panic and called the police. Sometimes they couldn’t find me until I woke up and made my own way back. Sometimes I got hurt along the way.”

She shivers. Ruvik imagines what that must have been like. He hasn’t been afraid of the dark since he was very young, and Laura was there to reassure him. For a little girl to fall asleep and not be sure if she’d wake up in her bed again—never mind waking up alone, injured, in a strange place. He allows himself to empathize with her for just a moment.

He splays his fingers out in the space between her shoulder blades and applies pressure. It soothes the unpleasant tremble throughout her body. She inhales again, deliberate and slow, but stays silent. Ruvik, not believing that’s all for a second, presses his thumb against the burn mark.

“This. Where did this come from?” he asks.

She flinches and shoves his hand away, covering it with her own.

“When the night terrors hit, I most often screamed,” she says, “My parents…well, my mom just tried to adjust. Most often, when I woke up, it was her holding me, trying to comfort me even though it was pointless. But sometimes she had to leave, for work…”

Ruvik tenses beside her, the tint of her thoughts foreshadowing the next part of her story.

“My dad didn’t know how to cope with it like her. He’d…I don’t know, I guess he panicked? The screaming was what got him the most. A lot of times, he’d try to shock me awake, like in movies.”

Vivid images surface in her mind and wash over him. Cold bathtubs, snowbanks, a sharp sting in one or both cheeks, and one in particular…

“He had some friends over once and it happened. One of them was smoking. He took the cigarette and…well…I woke up. Mom didn’t stay with him long after that.”

Ruvik is surprised at the fierce, vicious heat that courses through him at her words, soaking his thoughts in red. It’s directed like a missile on her father, for his actions, for his ignorance. The feeling isn’t unfamiliar to him, however. Oh no, this is a rage he’s nursed for years, aimed at those who have wronged him (and apparently, now her).

“Ruvik?”

She’s staring at him, eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears and curiosity. A hesitant hand reaches towards him, pausing for a fraction of a moment before settling on his chest. He shudders, the calm she exudes crashing into him. It doesn’t soothe his fury, but it dulls the edge.

“You…you’re making a face like…”

“Your father deserves to _suffer_ ,” he snarls.

She blinks and shifts onto her side, curling closer to him. The hand that had rested on her back is left behind in the move, leaving his arm draped around her.

“This is old stuff,” she says, “Let’s just ride out the afterglow for a little while longer?”

He narrows his eyes at her, unsure as to what her motive is. Unlike him, she’s never addressed her father for the trauma he caused, never confronted him with his crimes. To her, these are simple, sad truths. They are fragments of a larger whole, one she’s never had influence on, and so she assumes her father follows the same heuristic. Not so, but he is unable to show her that error here and now.

“Very well,” he replies.

She hums and wriggles closer, pressing right up against him without hesitation or disgust. He stares down at her, arm hovering over her now. If she’s aware of his discomfort, she doesn’t respond to it. In fact, Alice only gets closer, tucking in against him and hooking her calf around his thigh.

“This is called snuggling. People do it after sex, me included—when I’m not afraid of falling asleep.”

And just like that, she’s addressed the fact that he’s never experienced intercourse before, without drawing attention to it. He’s not sure if it makes him angry or grateful. Though why he would be grateful to her is a mystery. This is weakness, plain and simple. In fact, he should be pushing her away, reminding her where she is and whose control she’s under.

He doesn’t.

How often has he been touched like this? Without reservation? Without disgust? Knowing all that she does about the monster he is and still seeking out contact. It’s as if his burns aren’t there at all, which he prefers over worship of them. Because pretending as if these imperfections are anything other than a gruesome testament of his loss would be unacceptable. He would loathe her for the dishonesty, but this? He must admit it’s comforting, if unnerving.

“You think too hard,” she murmurs, “just take a moment to relax. When was the last time you did that?”

Never. Work and research has always interested him more, motivated by revenge, and sleep holds little solace. Like her, it has always been a hardship for him. Impossible, when it wasn’t riddled with nightmares or seizures or migraines or a thousand other pains. But that comfort she so often gives Leslie seeps deeper into him. It uncoils his muscles, evens his breathing.

He doesn’t argue.

“This will not last,” he warns.

She nods and closes her eyes again, tucking her head beneath his chin.

“Which means _I’m_ going to enjoy the peace even more.”

Ruvik assumes that in some alternate reality, there’s an unspoken, “And you should too, imbecile.”

He does.

 

Alice dozes, lulled by the warmth and general looming presence Ruvik emanates. It’s not so much that the darkness surrounding him is comforting—although it is familiar now. Rest is just easy to come by when the most dangerous threat inside STEM is playing with your hair. She figures he’s as starved for positive physical contact as she is.

“Kidman has found Leslie again.”

He states it without inflection, just like everything else, but it’s as effective as if he screamed it in panic. Alice bolts upright and scans the floor for her clothes—which of course are nowhere in sight, because Ruvik _disappeared_ them earlier. Growling in frustration, she turns to him, only for a fresh set to drop into her hands.

Alice starts clambering into the garments like her ass is on fire.

Underwear, then shorts.

_Shorts?!_

Fuck, she’ll complain later. Leslie is more important than her bare legs.

“She took my gun and was going to kill me.”

Bra.

_Bras were invented by the devil. I swear to god I’m two seconds from doing this nips-out!_

“If Leslie gives her a reason, she’ll kill him too.”

Jerking her shirt down ( _with_ a bra beneath) she turns back to Ruvik. He’s all dressed and ready to go, wearing his usual tattered, bloodstained, and open garb. Of course he didn’t one-shot dress her too. Ignoring that, she holds a hand out to him. Something pleasant pangs inside her when he takes it to transport them.

They’re inside a church, one large room with a high ceiling and rows upon rows of pews. It’s been a long time since Alice was in a church, but there’s some relief in not recognizing it. The candles in the sconces are lit, still tall and whole as though frozen in time. Alice is standing on a red carpet that extends down the center aisle past the first few pews. The diamond design, with the line through it, is one she’s noticed in odd areas throughout STEM.

Ruvik is no longer standing with her, but rather in front of the church doors. Between them are Leslie and Kidman. The former is hunched in on himself, shaking, and whatever positivity Alice has been feeling freezes to ice. Her stomach clenches to see him like this, lost and frightened and barely clinging on. She feels like she abandoned him.

“He’s here!” Leslie shouts.

His voice is high and trembles as much as he is. Kidman gasps and whirls around, the gun she stole from Alice fixating on Ruvik. That doesn’t make Alice any happier, but Ruvik can take care of himself. Besides, she shouldn’t really be worrying about him at all.

“Ruvik! What do you want with me?” Kidman says.

If Alice wasn’t so good at reading Ruvik’s micro-expressions by now, she’d miss his amusement. He advances towards Kidman and she nudges Leslie back, an arm spread out as if that will protect him. Alice shifts to the side, catching Leslie’s attention. He makes a relieved sound and huddles close.

“You?” Ruvik replies, keeping Kidman distracted, “I’m just making sure you’re doing your job.”

Alice frowns at looks at him over Leslie’s head, but his expression gives nothing away.

 _The plot thickens_.

“Just like me, I doubt they want damaged goods.”

Alice’s heart quickens. Finally, some answers. She knew there was some sort of third party involved! God, if Kendra could see her now!

“Back up! He’s coming with me!” Kidman snarls.

Alice urges Leslie further away, out of her orbit as Kidman’s retreat continues.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Ruvik drawls, “I’m sensing a conflict of interest.”

She finally seems to notice Alice’s presence and jumps, not sure who she wants to point the gun at. Seeing that Alice is keeping her distance, she wisely keeps her focus on Ruvik.

“Your people aren’t the only ones counting on this boy,” he continues.

Goosebumps travel down Alice’s body, a shiver wracking her. At her side, Leslie is whispering “Beacon” and “the light” and she doesn’t know what that means, but something is about to happen. She can sense it like she did in Beacon, right before she was dragged into this nightmare.

“You need him to get out…” Ruvik says.

Well that’s as good a reason as any for Kidman to keep him alive. Ruvik of all people would know how to use the self-serving nature of a human to his advantage—especially in a world where an individual’s best interests are flat-out survival.

“…As do I.”

Alice jolts, mouth going dry as Leslie speaks in tandem with Ruvik, his voice lower and rougher than usual. She remembers the house back in Elk River, while they were resting. How Leslie’s voice got just like this, how the air around him erupted in static and for a few moments, she didn’t know if it was him or Ruvik with her.

She turns to look at him, hoping his image isn’t flickering back and forth again. Well, it’s not, but she’s not sure this is any better. Leslie’s standing up straight for the first time since she’s met him, shoulder back, expression sharp and dark. It’s the way she imagines Ruvik would look if he didn’t mask his emotions all the time.

“We’re all pawns; eventual victims,” they say.

Leslie steps around Alice, his fingertips lingering on her arm as he draws away. Kidman is looking frantically between him and Ruvik—and Alice is doing the same. She’s not sure what she’s feeling, but it’s kind of like standing on a tightrope over a chasm. And the chasm is filled with those creatures that chased her in her dreams.

“They killed me! They ripped me apart and took what they needed! I will destroy what they wish to control.”

Kidman stares at Leslie and swallows.

“Ruvik…?”

There’s no high-pitched shrieking this time, but Kidman drops to her knees. Alice has the urge to snatch up the gun while she has the chance, but Kidman’s bounces back in the next instant.

“Stop it!” she shouts, “Let him go!”

And then Leslie pounces. Alice gasps, because she didn’t expect him to move so quick or so violently, even knowing that Ruvik’s in control. His grip on Kidman’s neck is tighter than when he grabbed Alice back in Elk River. Alice can hear her struggling for air as she clutches onto Leslie’s wrist.

“He is my vessel. I am in control.”

For all the power Ruvik wields in here, Leslie is still limited by his physical abilities. Kidman shoves him off and turns the gun on him. Alice jolts forward to get between them, heart in her throat, but barbed wire bursts from the floor and tangles around her leg. She winces and grits her teeth as the sharp teeth threaten to break skin, tight as they are around her.

“Just what was your mission, exactly?” Ruvik say to Kidman, ignoring Alice. “Do you think their all-prying eyes can’t see in here? They’ve been watching you, Kid.”

As he speaks, Leslie stalks closer and closer, steps slow and measured. With each inch closed between them, Alice sees the panic and the conflict in Kidman’s eyes, but she _knows._ Her heart skips when Kidman cocks the gun, assuring herself a bullet is in the chamber. Kidman’s finger slips down to the trigger and Alice can’t hold back anymore.

“Ruvik!”

Black smoke fills her vision and Kidman is gone, leaving just the three of them. Leslie collapses, unconscious, and the barbed wire sinks back into the floor. Alice stands rigid for a few moments. She’s not looking at Ruvik, but she can feel his eyes on her.

 _Three…two…one_.

“You asshole, he could have died!”

She swings, fully expecting him to disappear or dodge or just grab her arm. Instead, she actually decks him. In the jaw. He stumbles back a small step, one hand going to the spot where she hit, but he looks nothing but amused. When he straightens up, Alice rakes a hand through her hair, glaring with homicidal intent.

“I wouldn’t have allowed such a thing,” he says, calm as you please.

Alice nearly takes a second crack at it. Maybe it’ll knock some sanity back into him. But she wasn’t holding back the first time and her hand and wrist are already throbbing. The pain only sharpens her mind, her fury, but she holds back on assault for another moment.

“I didn’t know that!”

“So this is more about your peace of mind than his actual safety.”

_Never mind._

This time, when she tries to punch him, he catches her arm and redirects her momentum until she’s against him. His other arm loops around her waist, squeezing a bruise on her hip.

“Get off!” she snarls, “I want to look at you while I scream at you!”

To her surprise, his hands release her. She spins around, fire in her eyes.

“It’s not about my peace of mind. It’s about Leslie’s safety. How was I supposed to know you could intervene before she shot him?” she snaps, “Leslie was at the end of a _gun_ , Ruvik.”

Ruvik looks down at her, unperturbed, but the amusement is starting to leave his features. Not taking her anger as a joke anymore. Which he shouldn’t. Alice doesn’t get mad often, but when she does, the world shakes with it.

“If I had thought for a moment that Leslie was in legitimate danger, I would have allowed you to get between them.”

Because when all is said and done she’s expendable. Alice knows that, has always known that, and has always accepted it without bitterness or exception. However, it didn’t always raise conflicting feelings. It didn’t always rock her like it is now.

As if noticing this—maybe he does—Ruvik adds coldly, “Make no mistake. Leslie’s wellbeing takes precedence over anyone and everyone else’s.”

If that upsets her, Alice doesn’t give her brain even a fraction of a second to process it. This is how Ruvik has always been. Something inside her has just shaken loose and gotten wires crossed. It’s probably all the oxygen that hasn’t been getting to her brain, what with running for her life and banging a psychopath.

No longer yelling, but still angry, she plows through their conversation. She’s as sick of being in the dark as she is of being scared.

“Because he’s your ‘vessel’. That’s what you said, right? What does that mean? Why can’t you use _this_ body?”

 She gestures down the length of him and notes with some triumph the way Ruvik’s expression tightens.

_Finally getting somewhere._

“That is not your concern. He is.”

“And this concerns _him_. I’m not playing this game anymore, Ruvik. I’m going to die here—I deserve to know what the hell is going on.”

He stares at her and she can see him calculating. Alice stands her ground, jaw clenched tight around her anger and any other emotion rampaging through her.

“Very well,” he says and grabs her arm.


	9. Two People at the End of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alice is going through some things and Ruvik just kinda... stands there.
> 
> (More smut this chapter because I have no self control and there won't be time for it later)

Alice has not left his system.

She whirls on him, rage setting her aglow like an avenging angel. She unleashes her rage upon him, her strikes swift and unrestrained. Ruvik can taste her anger, her frustration, her fear, her _passion_ as lashes out. A heady mix of emotion both new and decades old. It’s delicious, undiluted and undirected. He still desires her—maybe even more than before, now that he’s had her once.

Something inside her has shifted, though; her equilibrium has been interrupted. That calm she has always exuded is not as it once was. The change thrums in the very air around her, a pulsing, unsteady thing that not even she can see.

It…bothers him. Just as it does to see the conflict in her eyes when he reminds her of his priorities. Just as it does when she announces her own death. She’s not incorrect—her usefulness has always had a time limit, but for her to state it so bluntly…

He gives in to her demands instead. Explaining his history to Alice reminds him. The rage resurges—his purpose, his motivation, burning bright and sharp like an old friend. The anger is always there, always spurring him towards his goal, but remembering the path that’s led him here always kindles it anew.

“Distracted when my work was so close to fruition, I didn’t realize Jimenez betrayed me until it was too late,” he finishes.

Alice is staring at the spot where the echo of his memory faded, the day Mobius’s henchmen dragged him away. To experiment on him. To break him. To strip him down until there was nothing left but his brain.

He can sense that her fury—at least with him—has cooled. Her brow is furrowed, absorbing what he’s told her and figuring it into whatever her own brain has puzzled out. So clever, his Alice. More than she has any right to be.

“You said they ripped you apart. That they killed you. How are you here, then?” she asks.

He grips onto her again—this time at the wrist. His grip has been travelling further and further down her arm as he’s transported her around STEM, fill in the gaps of her knowledge. Despite himself, he remembers the feeling of her hand in his right before they left to deal with Kidman. The last person he held hands with was his sister. He didn’t miss them. He _didn’t_.

They appear in the Mobius labs, where they housed his brain in its glass sphere. When she looks up at him in question, he inclines his head towards the macabre monument. She follows his eyes, blinks, and takes a hesitant step forward. Ruvik watches her travel the whole circumference before stopping in front the frontal lobes, as if they were facing each other.

“That’s…”

She stops and shakes her head, realizing there’s nothing she can say to adequately summarize such an experience. Ruvik studies her expression. Behind her eyes are all the emotions he expects of her. Anger, horror. Perhaps some revulsion. None of that is reflected in her features. The most she’s allowed herself to show in that regard is astonishment.

What he doesn’t see is pity. No sympathy. There’s compassion, but Ruvik knows that’s different. It stems from empathy—or an attempt at empathy, at any rate. Only he could ever fathom the true depth of his agony, but Alice has an impressive index for it. She knows she doesn’t understand, and she certainly doesn’t want to. But she’s not disregarding him either.

“So you’re going to take Leslie’s body,” she says. Flat, but strained.

Something in her voice is strange. What did she expect? How drastically has he exceeded that? She’s not looking at him. Are her neurons firing in an attempt to cope with her reality, or is it all static in her mind right now?

“If I don’t, Mobius will.” he says, keeping his voice low. “That’s why Kidman was sent here. To…extract him for them.”

Alice nods and the singular motion seems to set the reset the rest of her. All at once she’s pacing, raking her fingers through her messy hair, shredding her bottom lip between her teeth.

Her eyes flick to him in distress. “When you—you take over… what happens to Leslie?”

Her eyes are glassy again, like they were when she explained her scars, but she doesn’t cry. Ruvik’s not sure how he would react if she did. All of Ruvik’s subjects have cried at some point during his experiments—some, that’s all they did. He always disregarded it, clinical and empirical. Alice is… different.

At this point, he must acknowledge that, at least.

“I can’t be certain. I’ve never achieved total resonance with someone before. Likely, however, he will simply… cease.”

She inhales slowly, shakily. Is that better than she was expecting? Worse? Exactly what she was hoping for? He stands back, watches as she comes to an abrupt halt. She lifts onto the balls of her feet and drops her heels. Then does it again. Over and over. Faster and faster, until she’s almost bouncing.

She freezes. “What would they do to him?”

The question sounds like it was pried out of her. They both know she doesn’t want to hear the answer, but she owes it to Leslie to ask. Perhaps he’ll be merciful. Just this once. Because it’s Alice.

“Nothing that will make you feel better for knowing.”

She swallows and nods. A hum fills the room. Hers. Those notes, that melody. Quicker than usual, an octave higher than usual, but hers nonetheless.

Her small hands run down her face. “Even if he made it out of here without you in his body, they’d come for him. I couldn’t protect him. No one could,” she says.

Ruvik says nothing. She’s speaking more to herself than him now, anyway.

“And Jimenez… God. I’d kill him myself, given the opportunity,” she mutters.

That’s interesting. Could he orchestrate such a demonstration before this is all over? With the intensity of her emotions right now perhaps she’s sincere. Even if she didn’t kill Jimenez, she’d get close, which would be just as gratifying.

Alice releases a shuddering breath. “F-fine.”

He stares at her. What it is she’s agreeing to, exactly?

“Fine,” she repeats, “I’ll keep him safe.”

“You would have done that anyway,” he scoffs.

She turns on him then. There’s a shivering ripple in her psyche. Something very fragile is happening inside her. If he’s not careful… well. He doesn’t want her to break. Not like this.

“I’m not going to fight you,” she murmurs, “I’m not going to encourage _him_ to fight you. I’ll run around and do whatever you need help with because your attention can only be split so many ways.”

This was all an assured thing to begin with. Or at least what matters of it. She would follow his commands and protect Leslie whether she wanted to or not. Her approval is inconsequential. As for Leslie—though he’ll fight, and his compliance would make this easier, it is also not a requirement.

He doesn’t say this. He doesn’t know why. It would be the truth, but he doesn’t say it.

Alice is staring up at him with her wide brown eyes. In their molten depths, Ruvik can see that he doesn’t need to say anything anyway. She knows it.

Her own difficulties she’s been able to cope with, but Leslie, someone she truly considers a friend—maybe even a surrogate sibling—is something else. She’s scrambling for something, anything, to feel like she’s being a good friend to him. Because the idea that she’s helpless is unacceptable. Ruvik can’t exactly relate, but he recognizes it. He wants to comfort her.

Why? What about her is so special that his humanity has been triggered like it hasn’t since Laura’s death? But he doesn’t _really_ have to wonder at that, does he? No. Alice is special She smiles in the face of horror, confronts her fears with determination. Her mind crawls with its own monstrosities; she is scarred by her own abuses, and they have created a unique scar inside her.

And despite that, she is kind. Not that delicate, sickly-sweet kindness that hides ill-intentions or guilty consciences. The only sincere person who could ever wear that sort of benevolence was Laura. No, there is a fierceness in Alice’s compassion, an uncompromising, indomitable ardor that burns alongside her anger and her fear.

Alice looked upon his tragedy and his rage and told him that they were his, but not to hurt her with. That didn’t stop him from trying, but she didn’t allow him the responsibility of her emotions, and she didn’t take responsibility for his. Knowing everything—or almost everything—she accepted his touch, made herself vulnerable to him. She shared her own pain with him. _Him_.

This is, in an odd way, acceptance.

For all intents and purposes, Ruvik… likes her. Alice. His antithesis.

“Very well.”

She blinks, lips parting. Whatever words she’s going to say are lost in the crush of his lips on hers. He can’t stand to hear them. He is hoping desperately, vainly, blindly, that having her again will stop this ache in his chest. Perhaps Alice is experiencing the same burn. Or maybe she just wants to lose herself in sensation rather than thought, because she melts into him.

The world flickers and they are back at the church. Leslie is just where they left him, still unconscious. Good. Alice pulls away from him when she notices the boy still there. Ruvik growls but she splays her fingers over his chest and gives him a meaningful look. How is he supposed to interpret that?

“I don’t want him waking up and seeing something he shouldn’t. Send him somewhere safe and comfortable and I’m yours.”

Those last two words send a bolt of heat down his spine. Something feral and possessive. His arm circles her waist and squashes her against him, all warm and supple against him. However, at her noise of protest, he sends Leslie away with an impatient gesture. Somewhere safe and comfortable, as she requested. Though she wouldn’t know the difference if he didn’t. Perhaps that’s what makes the difference.

Noticing that she’s been heeded, Alice’s eyes flash with something. Surprise, maybe. Or perhaps pleasure. She leans up to kiss him—his reward. Her tongue invades his mouth, stroking along his. Ruvik dives into it, licking her bottom lip and nipping the soft flesh red. She yields to the hands roaming her body, back arching.

“Say it,” he says.

She blinks up at him in confusion, addled and flushed.

“I’ve sent Leslie away, as you asked,” he prompts.

Comprehension flashes across her features, followed by a healthy dose of lust. She drags the tip of her tongue over her lip and looks up at him through her lashes.

“And now I’m all yours,” she purrs.

He closes his eyes, takes a moment to let those syllables wash over him. Alice busies herself running her hands down his abdomen and pushing his tattered coat off his shoulders. Slow and inefficient when he could get the same result with just a thought, but pleasant nonetheless. In this there is also genuine kindness. Her apathy towards his burns as just another part of him, no more special than unmarked skin.

For a few moments, Ruvik revels in the soft, warm caresses. Revels that there’s no wariness of pain he doesn’t want. Then he senses her moving. His loose pants are nudged down his hips. He opens his eyes, curious and hungry to find her on her knees. About to ask, the words are lost in deep groan as she closes her hand around his erection and strokes. Once, firm.

“Glad we’re doing this on carpet,” she murmurs.

“And what exactly are you doing?” he asks.

She arches an eyebrow at him and shifts, but the hint of a grin tugs at her mouth. “Reciprocating for earlier.”

Then her hot, wet tongue licks a long stripe the length of his shaft. His hands fly into her hair of their own accord, tangling great handfuls of the messy strands between his fingers. It’s soft and a little tangled and smells like blood and roses. Her mouth envelopes the head of his dick and all other thoughts cease.

 

It’s been awhile since Alice has done this—a logical conclusion, since it’s been awhile since she had sex at all. Blow jobs have never been her _favorite_ part of sex. Of course, she’s happy to bring her partner pleasure, but she’s not someone that savors having a dick in her mouth. It’s mainly her jaw aching and the gagging and worrying about her teeth.

She needs to get out of her head though. Needs to tuck away the conversation they just had, in the back of her mind. Let it simmer there until she’s used to it. Until she can think about what he’s told her without her brain running itself into the ground. The methodology of this is enough to get her mind off it. For now, at least.

Ruvik isn’t rushing her either. In fact, he seems intent on being patient where he’s usually straight to the point. Even better. Nothing can be done for her jaw, but the gagging can be managed by working herself up to it. So she does, taking him in an inch at a time, and using all the little tricks she’s learned and read and heard about in the meantime.

Considering this is (probably) his first blow job, she figures she can’t fuck up too bad. From the noises he’s making above her, she’s not fucking up at all. Now this is worth it. Ruvik is growling and groaning and gasping above her, hands tight in her hair just the way she likes. That voice of his…

_Breathe through the nose. Three… two… one…_

She bobs her head down to the hilt and swallows. Retreats a little and then moans. He shouts, hips jerking, and she lets him thrust a few times, ignoring the obligatory tears from almost gagging. Before she knows it, he’s pushing her away, gentle but firm. Alice inhales deep, licking spit and precome from her lips.

He extracts his hands from her hair, catching a tangle that makes her scrunch up her nose. “You little minx.”

“Am I in trouble or something?” she asks.

He’s smirking, or at she thinks he is. Her vision is still a little blurry. Before she knows it, her shorts and underwear are gone and he’s spinning her around, pushing her forward. She catches herself on her hands and glances over her shoulder.

“Hey!” she huffs, “Manhandling is not necessary.”

Not that she minded, really…

Ruvik just snorts. “You’re in trouble.”

A shiver races down her spine, the slick and ache between her thighs intensifying. She shifts, hoping for some friction, some sort of relief. It does nothing but make her problem apparent to Ruvik. He chuckles in that deep, rough way she likes. She swallows down the whine that threatens to become audible. Bastard.

“For giving you a blow job?” she demands, breathless.

He strokes a hand down her back. “For punching me.”

“You could have stopped me. I’m _yours,_ after all. Aren’t you the one in control?”

Maybe antagonizing him isn’t the best idea. A sharp slap to her ass makes her yelp, back arching. The sting fades into a new kind of heat and it takes everything in her not to beg him to fuck her right there. How one man can hit all the right notes her with so _thoroughly_ is beyond comprehension. Or fairness.

He nudges her knees apart and bows her shoulders forward, leaving her ass high in the air. Alice moans—cries when three fingers enter her without preamble. Still prepped from their earlier triste, nothing but pleasure ricochets down her spine, warm and welcome. She clenches down as he twists and curls them inside her, hit something _good_. Trying to keep the noises in her throat from escaping, she bites her lip.

He shifts and leans over her, his tone polite and wickedly cruel. “Could you repeat that?”

It takes her a minute to remember the last intelligible thing she said to him. Another minute to form a coherent sentence in reply.

“Which— _ah—_ part?” she asks. Close enough.

“That last part will suffice.”

She glances at him, which is a mistake because the heat in her body only kicks up a notch. Or ten.

“Aren’t you the one in control?” she breathes.

Despite her panting and her mewling, she manages to inject enough sarcasm to be audible. He growls, nips her shoulder, and rubs up against a spot that makes her see stars. Her fingers curl into the carpet as she moans his name, rocking her hips back.

“Indeed, I am,” he replies, “Which means you would do well to _behave_.”

The word strikes a chord—a good chord—and Alice makes a filthy noise.

“I could keep you on the edge of pleasure for hours, Alice.” He rubs against that bundle of nerves again as demonstration. “I could bring you to the brink of release again and again, if I chose. You are _mine_.”

Alice could tease him further, but then he could repay her. Tenfold. And she really, _really_ wants him inside her. The power radiating from him is more pronounced than usual. Perhaps spurred on by his little show earlier to Kidman. There’s something else too, something difficult to parse out when she just wants to orgasm but there’s a comfort in having him take care of her like this. Alice isn’t sure what it is, really, but she’s into it.

So she swallows her pride and defers to desire.

She nods. “I’m yours. All yours, Ruvik. To do whatever you want with.”

He hums, the sound all smug pleasure, and kisses marks down her spine. His fingers never stop, working in and out of her and torturing that one, perfect spot now that he’s found it. Alice can do nothing but writhe and rock beneath him, tilting her hips. When his mouth reaches the bottom of her spine, he pulls his fingers away, leaving her empty.

She whines, but he smooths his palms up her the backs of her thighs and hushes her. A moment later, his cock is stretching her entrance, thick and hot as it sinks into her. Not slowly, either. Not like last time. He grips onto her hips and rams into her to the hilt. She shouts, propping herself up on her arms again and glancing at him over her shoulder.

He looks fantastic, buried deep inside her, fingers grasping new marks into her flesh. A fleeting thought passes through her mind that it’s probably a little uncool to do this in a church, but it’s not as important as his dick filling her up. Besides, this is STEM; no one worships in here.

“There’s no going back,” he rumbles.

She blinks. They’re way past the point of no return. Way, _way_ past. Probably have been for a while now. Ruvik only now seems to be getting with the program. Better late than never.

“Good. Now _fuck_ me.”

Without another word, he rocks back and thrusts into her, setting a hard and fast pace she can barely keep up with. In the end, she arches her back and just takes it. Lets his hands guide her how he wants, lets him pound every thought and worry and doubt from her mind with his cock, until the edges of her vision blur.

The heat and pleasure build quickly; she was never going to last long, and she got him halfway there with her mouth earlier. At his urging, she drops her shoulders down again. It deepens the angle, allows him to hammer into G-spot until she’s nearly sobbing. He drapes himself over her back, the rough patches of his scars adding more stimulation along her back.

One of his arms braces him; his hand covers hers. Their fingers lace together and before she can be surprised, his other hand has slipped around to rub her clit. She screams as she comes, his name on her lips. He continues thrusting, chasing his own release and drawing hers out in long, euphoric waves.

When Ruvik finishes, the whole cathedral shudders, dust drifting from the ceiling. Alice waits until he pulls out to collapse, knees sliding out from under her, arms like Jell-O. As much as she wants to roll over, she can’t work up the energy. Ruvik drops onto his back beside her, still naked. That’s nice; he’s not popping off for evil right away.

Absent fingers trail over the scars on her shoulder, tracing the paths her nails made. Alice has always ignored them, pretended she couldn’t see their silvery shine in mirrors. If a partner asked—rare as it was for them to notice, never mind inquire—she’d always lie. Say it was a cat or some childhood accident. She’s never let anyone linger over them.

“Do you still do it?” Ruvik asks.

She forces her eyes open, considering him. Alice figures turnabout is fair play and unlaces their fingers to reach out, tracing the edges of his burn marks. To her surprise, Ruvik doesn’t tense or push her away, though the way his eyes flicker down makes it clear he’s conscious of it.

“Rarely. More often I have sleep paralysis now,” she replies.

“It persists to this day?”

She nods, propping her chin up on her free hand. Ruvik doesn’t remove his hand and she doesn’t urge him to.

Her finger traces an edge between burned and untouched skin on his abdomen. “It comes in… phases. Now that I’m older, it stops for a couple months or so and then it’ll come back for a week or two.”

As he absorbs this, Alice takes advantage of his distraction. Her eyes travel the planes of his face, memorizing the straight slope of his nose and the high set of his cheekbones. After viewing his memories, she knows that he’s always had such angular features. Horrific fire or not, Ruvik’s always been destined to grow up handsome—and terribly clever. What a mind he has, despite what he uses it for.

If Alice could have ever slept regularly, she would have gone into medicine. The lack of sleep made school and studying difficult, however. She’s not uneducated, and she’s compassionate enough to be a doctor or nurse, but she couldn’t get through school with the way she sleeps. Not safe. Not to mention the fuel for nightmares. Alice doesn’t envy him, but she certainly admires his brain.

Which she’s realizing she can… actually see. Of course, she’s seen him without the hood on. Some distant part of her brain registered the clear panel in his skull the last time they were intimate, but she hasn’t gotten a good look at it until now. There are little holes in the dome, exposing it to the air. She squints and resists the urge to touch.

_Do not tap on the glass. It disturbs the Ruvik._

“Are the holes for ventilation?” she asks.

“Experimentation.”

Her eyes widen, stomach rolling before she swallows and settles it. Of all the things she’s seen and heard, this shouldn’t be what makes her lose her lunch. Recalling what he told her earlier, she starts musing aloud.

“So you could hook yourself into STEM whenever you needed to?”

He nods.

She lingers over it for another few seconds, noting the thick, occasionally sideways sutures along the seams. Alice figures he did it himself, because he’s a paranoid bastard and Ruvik wouldn’t trust anyone else around his brain. She doubts he trusts anyone period—not that she’s surprised, after everything he’s been through.

“So what are you going to do once you get out of here?” she wonders.

He doesn’t even hesitate. “Take revenge against Mobius for what they’ve done to me.”

She nods, expression serious, and waits. When he doesn’t continue, Alice arches her eyebrows at him, prompting for more.

“What?” he says, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

She cracks a small smile and inches closer, ignoring her still half-naked state. Pants are overrated anyway.

“What _else?_ You’re going to be back in the real world, Ruvik. Revenge isn’t all there is.”

“Reality is subjective to the mind. What happens in STEM is no more fantasy than anything that occurs outside of it,” Ruvik says.

Something underlying in her words tugs at her, but she doesn’t allow her mind to linger. Wishful thinking, as they say. Alice props her chin in her hand and levels him with a look, hand pausing in her exploration.

“Alright, well you’ll be outside of STEM. In a world that isn’t yours to toy with. You’ll just be a part of it again. What are you going to do—other than dismantle Mobius?”

He narrows his eyes, but there’s no hiding the befuddlement in his features. It starts to dawn on her that this brilliant man may not have thought that far ahead. Fueled by his rage and his revenge for so long, he doesn’t seem to have considered the epilogue of reaching that goal.

“Like, um…what’s the first thing you’re going to eat? You can’t destroy a megacorporation on an empty stomach.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re mocking me.”

She blinks twice and chokes down laughter, but she’s grinning anyway. That probably doesn’t help her case, so she shakes her head, presses her lips together to try to hide it.

“No, I’m being serious. What are you craving?” she asks.

He arches an eyebrow, eyes trailing over the curves hidden beneath her shirt. A warm blush spreads over her face as she nudges at his shoulder, but she can’t help giggling this time.

“Food, Ruvik.”

Finally considering her question, his hand slides from her shoulder into her hair. Threading his fingers through the strands, his nails scrape over her scalp and Alice leans cat-like into it. Almost forgets she asked anything at all until he speaks again.

“Lobster,” he says, “I’m going to have lobster.”

She hums, the mention of food reminding her that she hasn’t eaten since this morning. If it was still only just this morning. Time passes strangely inside STEM. At any rate, she’s not hungry, but food sounds good anyway. Like soup, or cake. Some comfort food.

“And what about drinks? Alcohol? Soda? Chocolate milk?” she asks.

That narrow-eyed look is back, but now it’s suspicious. Paranoid bastard. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”

She glances down at him and realize that she’s somehow snuggled up against his side. It can only be that strange magnetism he exudes. Certainly not because she likes his company. Likes the conversation. Likes the physical contact.

_Sure sweetie. Keep telling yourself that and maybe you’ll believe it._

“Because I’m going to die in here. I’m living vicariously through you,” she replies. Shrugs. “And I’m curious.

She keeps her voice light, trying to make it into a joke. A little difficult to joke about her own death, though, considering she’s not interested in dying just yet. There were still things she wanted to experience, places she wanted to go, people she wanted to meet. It must fall as flat as she expects, because Ruvik makes an odd expression and she studies the red rug beneath them.

Firm fingers cradle her jaw with unexpected gentleness and guide her eyes back to his. Before she can ask what he’s doing, they’re kissing. Long and slow and still somehow fierce, like a promise. Alice leans into him, eyes closed to shut out anything other than this moment. Just two really fucked up people, kissing like it’s the end of the world.

When he pulls away, the fingers not in her hair slide down her body and slip into her.

“I’ll be the one to kill you. I won’t allow one of my creatures to do so,” he says.

It sounds like a promise and her laugh sounds suspiciously like a sob. But she presses her face against his neck and arches into his touch. His offer is still, somehow, comforting. In a weird way.

“Good. I’d be really offended if you left it for someone or something else,” she replies.

His fingers leave her wet entrance, hands guiding her up to straddle him. She rocks back onto his dick and moans. Together, they work her shirt over her head, followed by her bra. Their hands lace together as she moves over him.

“Tell me your favorite place in Krimson City,” he says.

And she tells him. Answers his questions through gasps and mewls of pleasure, until they tumble headlong into ecstasy.


	10. A Sleep-like Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice spends most of this chapter soaking wet. And not in the fun way.

Alice's head hurts when she wakes. Her cheeks feel stiff like she was crying but she doesn't remember turning on the water works. She remembers yelling at Ruvik, their... argument? Is that the way to describe the brief mental breakdown she went through while Ruvik just stood around awkwardly? Whatever. It happened, and then they had sex—twice—and that's around the time things got dark.

Makes sense. This experience has become a roller coaster on steroids with no seatbelts and more blood than the average amusement park. At least she assumes... been a while since her last amusement park. Anyway, it just makes sense that her brain finally said "fuck it" and took a little break. It still gets hard to breathe when she thinks of Leslie ceasing to exist, but it's easier knowing that what would await him otherwise is worse than anything Ruvik's done.

_Back to the grind—and I don't mean Ruvik this time._

She scrubs at her eyes and face, recognizing the mattress beneath her. The master bed in the mansion.

_Good times._

The hooded menace himself isn't skulking around, so he must be off terrorizing detectives and tipping over trashcan. But, look at that, he fetched her gun for her! She plucks it from the nightstand, feels the weight in her hand and pops out the magazine. How thoughtful; it's full!

_Is he okay? Does he need to lie down or something?_

Out of curiosity, she tugs at the waistband of her pants, glances at her skin. Finger-shaped bruises and blossoms of bright red hickeys still decorate her skin. That's... that's actually really nice. Like he's not ignoring what happened. He did say there was no turning back, after all.

_Possessive fucker, isn’t he?_

Other things to focus on now. Like finding Leslie. Questions, comment, concerns and moral conundrums can be settled later. The grogginess is starting to dissipate now, leaving Alice feeling more rested and energetic than she expects. Like she could win a triathlon. Or survive STEM. Not at all like she fucked Ruvik three times within a short span of time.

Gun in hand, she yanks the bedroom door open and finds herself overlooking a ruined Krimson City. She inhales deep. Regrets it. Smoke and gasoline fumes invade her nose and lungs, making her cough. She wrinkles her nose, covers it with one palm to get the stench out.

Trying to gain her bearings is like trying to draw on an etch-a-sketch during an earthquake. There's no point. Krimson City is a wasteland or twisted metal and chunks of concrete. A bright, distant light catches her attention among the destruction. She rolls her eyes.

_Oh, very clever. I get it._

Beacon. The only building left standing in perfect condition. Well, nothing like irony and symbolism to set an objective, right?

As she climbs down from a tall, precarious pile of rubble, a familiar figure strolls around a corner. Alice jogs over, surprised to see him so soon.

“Ruvik!"

Nothing. What the hell? Selective hearing, much?!

"Hey, Ruvik! Don’t fucking ignore me!”

She rounds the corner and Ruvik spins to face her, which is about the moment she realizes something's not quite right. His movements are strange, jerky and sloppy. She tilts her head and squints. Wait a second...

_Not Ruvik. That’s not Ruvik!_

“You know what, never mind.”

She pivots and bolts as a sickening screech erupts behind her. There’s a weird sound that follows that's very, ah... wet. The cracked cement below her trembles. She chances a peek over her shoulder. A chain of spindly arms erupts in volcanoes of blood from the ground. And they’re catching up fast.

“What the actual fuck?!” she screams.

She sprints in half-circles and around obstacles until the weird chase end, but the not-Ruvik is still following her. As she trying to catch breath, something bursts from the shadows of his hood. Tentacles or... or something. Alice shrieks, snatches up her gun and fires into the writhing mess until the double drops. Creeping close to the corpse, she nudges at it with her foot. When it stays still, she sighs with relief.

“I see you have no qualms about shooting me.”

She glances at actual-Ruvik, standing an arm’s length away with his hands clasped behind his back. He looks far too amused for anyone's good. She rolls her eyes and straightens out her clothes.

“That wasn’t you. And even if it was, bullets don't work on you. So I don't have 'qualms' about shooting actual-you either. For fun.”

His smirk only widens. “I see you’re feeling more like yourself.”

She shrugs and tucks the gun in her waistband. No need to worry about monsters when he's babysitting. “More or less.”

Ruvik turns and gestures for her to follow him. Curious, Alice strolls a step behind him, glancing at the carnage of her city. The sidewalks and streets are split and broken, some sections leading off into air. Whole chunks of land have risen or sunk, making tiers of what had once been flat terrain. Some of the skyscrapers have crumbled to rubble. Others lie on their sides, windows burst and bits of rebar visible through ruined foundations.

Oddly enough, there aren’t any bodies.

Well, there aren’t until they reach a catwalk that once belonged to an apartment complex. Water has flooded the street below, probably sewage. A dark blob is swimming in the murky depths, around submerged cars and floating crates. Alice squints and frowns, leaning against the railing and bending for a better look. Ruvik’s hand curls into the back of her pants, offering a tether in case the metal gives.

“How much of my mind has leaked into this place?” she wonders aloud.

“What do you recognize?” Ruvik asks.

She points at the creature in the water, making a face. Drowning has never been one of her favorite nightmares, though not one of the worst.

“Alice, that’s been a part of STEM for a while now,” Ruvik says.

She shakes her head and looks back at him, stepping away from the edge of the catwalk. He releases her pants, but his fingertips linger along her waist. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking?

“How can that be? I’ve dreamed about that thing for years,” she replies.

His expression shifts into that scientific curiosity he's regarded her with in the past. Alice waits for an explanation, but he never shares his thoughts. Instead, he points over her shoulder, and she follows with her gaze.

“Leslie is on the other side of that building," he says.

She grimaces, peering down. There are no bridges—coincidental or otherwise—across the divide between her and the other building. Which means... she shoots Ruvik a pleading look.

“You can’t just…” she makes a wiggly gesture with her fingers, “zap me over there?”

Ruvik shakes his head. “Not this close to the end. I must preserve my strength.”

_Of course._

Alice huffs but nods, knowing that she probably can't convince him to help her out. It must take a lot to subsume someone else’s consciousness. That means she’ll be on her own from here on out.

_Just like at the start of this. I can do this._

She sets her hands on her hips. “I’ll find a way across.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Something in his voice surprises her. There’s an uncharacteristic warmth... or, no, maybe it's pride. It tugs at her.

“I’ll see you on the other side, then,” she says.

He inclines his head and disappears in a burst of static. Alone, Alice stares up at the dismal sky, working up her nerve. Oh, this is going to suck. Swallowing back any emotion that isn't determination, she considers her task. There’s a crushed car flush against the building, a fire escape right above it, and a shattered window a few stories up. Totally feasible.

The only problem is the giant fucking canal between her and the building. That wouldn’t even be so much of a problem if there weren’t that thing in there. Alice isn’t a strong swimmer. She lives in a fucking city! She can’t race a water-born creature.

Several yards away, she spots a corpse suspended from a warped lamppost. If she distracts the beast, then maybe she has a chance.

_One shot to make it across. Don’t fuck it up._

Gritting her teeth, Alice aims. It takes three tries but the rope breaks and the body splashes in. A stream of bubbles and the accompanying silhouette makes a beeline. Alice pitches herself over the railing, managing a half-dive before she hits the surface. Her arms, hands, and face sting. There’s disgusting, gritty water up her nose. It's fucking cold. That’s the least of her troubles.

_99 problems…_

Behind her, she hears an ominous swish and gasps for air, kicking for the wrecked car. She feels slow and clumsy with her shoes and her clothes, but she reaches her destination. Everything is so damn slippery. It takes her precious moments to find a foothold. Even longer to haul herself out. The extra weight of her soaked clothes throws off her balance, she starts tipping back...

At the last second, she gets a grip on the fire escape and stumbles onto the crumpled hood of the car. When she turns and plasters herself against the wall, the creature is circling just below the surface. After a moment, it loses interest, leaves, and Alice collects herself.

“Fuck. Fuck, I made it! HA! FUCK YOU!”

She laughs, just a touch hysterical, and squeezes excess water from her hair and shirt. Without further waiting, she climbs up the fire escape ladder. Despite the twisted metal, it holds firm, until she reaches the platform beneath the window she saw earlier. Alice ducks inside and pauses, listening for any enemies.

When nothing assaults her, Alice climbs out of her shorts and squeezes them as dry as she can. The shirt she can deal with, but the chafing on her thighs is going to be hell. Sighing, she yanks her bottoms on and begins navigating the building. It seems she’s ended up in an apartment complex.

If the world is indeed falling apart the way it seems, STEM’s mashing all their minds together in odd configurations. There are movie posters lining the walls, all weird and creepy horror advertisements. The vending machines are owned by some ominous company she's never heard of. If she passes one more derelict and misplaced mannequin, Alice may go on a rampage.

On the positive side, she hasn’t seen any zombies or tentacle creeps or BDSM-rejects with chainsaws. Apart from the faux-Ruvik earlier, the city is oddly… peaceful. Dead, would be a better description. She grimaces, turns a corner, and comes to an abrupt stop. Blinks at the safe facing her at the other end of the hallway.

Squinting, she slinks closer, gun drawn and finger on the trigger. It’s rectangular, two-dialed, heavy-duty. Not that Alice knows anything about safes, but that's just how it looks. When she’s halfway closed the distance, it twitches and rattles. Alice freezes, mentally retracing her steps to remember if there’s another way through here and... nope. She's lucky this path was even clear to begin with.

She scowls. “Alright, listen here, fucker. I don't have time for this. You need to stay the fuck over there and let me do what I gotta do.”

There’s no response, of course, but she waits a moment anyway. Why is it Ruvik is the only one that responds to her commentary? Realizing she's got no other choice, she inches closer and the world tints off color. There’s the grating cry of metal on metal. Before her eyes, the safe levitates high off the ground and a hulking form materializes beneath it. Her eyes widen as she stumbles back several steps.

The gigantic creature easily surpasses seven feet tall, most of it covered by a stained apron. As if its worried about ruining its clothes. At the bottom, she spots thick work boots that she’s sure could snap her neck with one kick. Even worse are the once-white rubber gloves its wearing, one of which is holding a wicked, modified hammer.

That alone is terrifying, on one end a meat tenderizer and the other curving into a sharp point. Alice couldn’t lift that with two hands, and the creature raises it like it weighs nothing, knocking the side against its safe…head. Safe head. The safe is its actual head. Holy shit.

She doesn’t even want to contemplate the oozing canvas bag attached to its belt.

“I think the fuck not,” she shrieks.

It’s not like the chainsaw-thing. This one is fast. Alice scrambles out of the way before it can take a swing at her. One hit and she’s dead, there's no two ways about it. There won’t be any struggling or kicking or fighting like with the zombies or tentacle-faced guys. Glancing over her shoulder, she notices the creature pursuing in long strides.

_Good, okay, it’s not smart._

She changes course, making a big circle around the room to get back to the hallway they started in. Sprinting like she is, she barely has time to vault the metal disk in her path. A booby trap! Not even the fun kind. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees the beast dropping an identical one.

“What is this bullshit?!” she screeches.

Not that she waits for an answer—or that it could give her one. Safes don’t generally come with mouths. Or ears, for that matter. Unless it opens the door, she supposes, but just as that thought comes, she dismisses it with a grimace. No, she doesn’t want to know what’s inside the safe.

Alice tries to think. Her thoughts are moving as fast as her heart. How far will this thing go to kill her? Because there’s certainly no chance of her little pee-shooter taking that thing down. Right, so what should she do?

A hole in the wall up ahead catches her attention. She puts on a burst of speed to get enough distance between them, praying there’s somewhere to hide. To her intense relief, she runs into a bedroom where there’s a closet, wardrobe, and bed to choose from. Alice hops into the middle option and slams the little doors in the nick of time.

The safe-head tramples in after her, kicking the bed aside in its rampage. Finding it empty—she wonders how it knows without eyes—the creature comes to a stop. It pauses for a moment, like it's looking around, before stomping over to the closet and bashing the door in. It gives up then, steps thundering away.

When it’s remained quiet for several moments, Alice slips out. Not knowing if it’ll find her is almost worse than just running from it. Trying to calm herself, Alice tiptoes back the way she came, peeking around every corner and listening for footsteps.

At long last, she reaches a window with a fire escape to the ground. Stepping foot onto the concrete, Alice scans the immediate area. Ruvik said Leslie was on the other side of this building… which should be where she is now. So where is he? Did he leave?

The wind changes; she hears voices. Leslie and… Kidman. Oh god.

A stray bubble, out of place in all the wreckage, floats from around the corner. No way that's anyone other than Leslie. Alice sighs in relief and runs, begging whatever may be listening that she’s not too late.

Alice spots them across the street and a little down, strolling into the park. A cloud of bubbles is frozen midair, despite the droplets of water that have started descending. With their backs turned to her, they don't notice her presence.

When she sees the flash of a gun, Alice’s heart stutters. Kidman’s aiming for Leslie’s head, the boy none the wiser. Her stomach lurches as she sprints for them as fast as she can, and she still feels too slow. She's too far too do anything. She can't even hear what's being said.

A gasp bursts from her lungs when Sebastian intercedes, distracting Kidman. It gives Alice a chance to close the distance more stealthily.

There’s another figure across from her, hiding behind a slide and out of Kidman’s sight. He's dressed like a detective. Sebastian mentioned a partner at some point. This must be him. A surprise that they haven’t met before now, but STEM is a big place and Alice has been otherwise occupied. She’s just relieved he’s here too.

Alice moves closer, ignoring the second officer when he shakes his head at her. Kidman turns her head to look at Sebastian. It's the perfect opportunity. The other officer makes his own approach. Alice reaches Leslie just as he throws his head back and screams. That high-pitched keen piercing their brains.

Glass shatters, shards raining down from skyscrapers that had still been partially intact. The ground shakes, almost takes her legs out from under her. Every survival instinct Alice has retained shouts to get her and Leslie to safety. Despite the pain in her mind, she grabs Leslie's arm and urges him to run.

The deafening crack of a shot goes off, pings off a spinning merry-go-round. Alice ducks. Tugs Leslie until he hunches over further. She shoots a look over her shoulder. The other officer is down, gripping his leg. The ricochet must have hit him. Sebastian is shouting, too far to be of much help.

Leslie’s moving too slow.

Kidman’s aim has recovered.

“No!” Alice pivots, shoves Leslie with the momentum.

_Bang!_

Something small and fast buries itself in her chest. Alice hits the ground hard, head rebounding off the concrete. Her vision blanks and sparks, white noise flooding her ears.

It’s hard to breathe; her chest is tight. Maybe it’s because she’s lying on her stomach?

Moving is harder than it should be. Her limbs feel heavy and… kinda numb? Weird. She manages to roll onto her back, blinking up at the weeping sky. Just like it was when she arrived at Beacon with Todd.

Wow, she hasn’t thought about Todd since entering STEM. He’s probably dead. That’s too bad.

Some of the static fades from her ears, and she hears a few strange noises. First, a sucking sound. Then, a gasping bubbling, with a hint of voice. Someone female.

Oh, it’s her.

She inhales—or tries to anyway. It feels like when she chokes on water, but thicker. She coughs, trying to clear her airway. Ow… that hurts. Like, that hurts a lot. What the fuck? And it's not any easier to breathe, either.

Alice tilts her head to investigate, a task even harder than moving her body. There’s… a big, gaping hole in her chest.

_Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration._

Upon second inspection, it’s a little hole. It just looks big because there’s so much blood coming out of it. A bullet-sized hole. Ah, yeah. That makes sense. Bullet wounds tend to happen when one places themselves in the path of a gun.

_Drama queen. Are you Ruvik now?_

Alice drops her head again, squinting up at the sky. She’s cold. In fact, the wound is ice cold. She blames the rain. Is it too much to ask for a warm summer shower?

“Alice.”

She blinks several times, but she’d know that voice anywhere. Ruvik.

His face appears above her, haloed by gloomy clouds. It’s so fitting, she thinks. Like some sort of angel of death bit. Except for one thing. Her vision is a bit blurry, what with the rain and her tears and the blood loss, but something in his expression is off. A little too blank, maybe?

_Ah, it's hard to think._

“Ru—” She breaks off to cough and tastes blood. “Fuck it. Ru is… your nickname.”

His brow furrows. There’s pressure on her hand. Oh, he’s holding her hand. She smiles a little, curling her fingers around his. His hands are so interesting, fingers nimble and long and slender and they fit so well with hers. They’re warm too. It’s nice.

His voice is very grave. “You’re dying.”

She rolls her eyes. Her eyelids feel heavy. “You don’t… fucking say.”

It’s difficult to speak, but totally worth it to sass him. Really, who is he? Captain Obvious? Now isn’t the time to point out things like this. Aren't people supposed to lie to comfort themselves and the victim? Say things like "you're going to be alright" and "I'm not going to let you die"?

Then again, this is Ruvik so she shouldn't expect dramatic movie moments.

“Are you in pain?” he asks.

She struggles to shake her head, but it’s a little easier than speaking. She's surprised things don't hurt more. Sure, there's a general, aching pain radiating through her abdomen, but it feels more like a bad bruise than anything. Adrenaline? Shock? Something Ruvik is doing?

"Shock," she decides. That's probably not right, but whatever.

His eyes trail over her once. Then twice. Then a third time. She squeezes his hand, drawing his gaze back to hers. She blinks, tries to focus, but it’s getting harder. Everything is getting harder, really.

_That wheezing sound is no zombie._

“Stop that,” she chokes out.

He’s silent. If it weren’t for the death-grip on her hand, she’d think he left and she was just hallucinating. It’s nice of him to be here while she’s dying. Ha. Ruvik and nice. Two words she didn’t think would apply to each other. Ever. Miracles do happen.

“Leslie?” she asks.

“He’s safe, but distraught. He knows you’re fatally wounded. He’s ready to accept me,” Ruvik replies

She hums in acknowledgement, but it’s ragged and doesn't come out right. Leslie's safe and not going through this, that's what matters. Ruvik’s voice fills the silence. Low and gravelly, but he’s humming that tune she always does. A few tears slip down her cheeks, but those can be excused as raindrops. Besides, they're not the sad kind.

This is a good way to die, she decides. Protecting her friend, in the company of a man she… well, she isn’t prepared to analyze her feelings for Ruvik on her deathbed, but they’re deep. And intense. His company is what she wants right now. He won’t get all weepy, make her feel bad for dying. He's here and grounding.

It won’t be long. Probably best to give him some parting words. For closure or something equally poetic.

“Hey.”

He pauses, waiting. There's tension in his shoulders that makes him look ready to snap. In the silence that follows, she gathers the last of her strength. She can almost feel how intently he’s listening.

“Don’t…”

Despite her efforts, she’s whispering. He leans closer. The world is dark and soft around the edges, but she can see his eyes. Pale and alive, sharp and startling. His eyes have enthralled her since they first met.

“Don’t forget to live. There’s more beyond Mobius. Don't waste your second chance.”

She slips into death like the best sleep of her life. Here, there’s no risk of nightmares.


	11. Welcome Back, Kid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's the end! I have epilogues written and I'm debating if I should include them or not.

“Alice?” 

Alice flinches at the bright light trying to pry past her eyelids. Raises an arm in the blind search for a pillow to cover her face with. Her hand meets air and she wrinkles her nose. Oh, for fucks sake! Her body feels heavy, mind foggy despite a faint aching sensation in her chest. This is the best sleep she's gotten in a while. Just five more minutes... 

Someone touches her shoulder. 

Alice shifts away. “Mm… just leave the… goo.” 

The hand grips and shakes her, not at all gently. She bats at them, already scowling as she squints her eyes open. Still with that bright light. Christ, are they trying to blind her? Who couldn’t wait just a minute? She can't see them yet. 

“Alice, are you okay?” someone asks. 

A man. She recognizes him… or she thinks she does? 

“Are you here for my muffins?” she mumbles. 

An aggravated sigh. “C’mon, Alice, Beacon’s gone bat-shit crazy. You need to get up.” 

Beacon? 

 _Oh, fuck, Beacon._  

Alice jolts up, adrenaline sparking in her veins, mind already working overtime. Her gaze skitters around wildly for the threat, hands scrambling for a nonexistent gun. The dark shape squatting beside her resolves into Todd. Alive and non-zombie Todd. 

“Wh-what’s happening?” Alice asks. 

He shines the flashlight in her face again. Alice grunts and shoves his hand away. 

“Some psychopath came through and slaughtered pretty much everybody,” he replies, “How the fuck are you still alive?” 

There's a rushing sound in her ears. The room spins a little. Her time in STEM wash over her, vivid and so fantastical, she could almost believe she imagined it all. Except the pain. The pleasure. That was no dream. Ruvik was no dream. 

And… oh god. 

Oh god, she died. Or she should have, anyway? Why isn’t she dead? Ruvik said that whatever happens in STEM is as good as reality. If her brain thought she was dying (and it did) then it stands to reason that her body would believe it, gunshot or not. She sways, a wave of nausea crashing into her. 

“Alice…? Oh, shit!” 

Todd grabs her before she falls back, an arm sliding behind her back. It grounds her a little, brings her back to the here and now. Whatever that is, anyway. Is that the heart moniter she was working on? 

“We need to get out of here. That maniac could still be around.” 

Alice accepts his help standing and leans against him for support as they creep through the abandoned and bloody hallways. Todd is wary and skittish, glancing around corners and tensing at every noise. Alice’s nerves have been forged in hotter fires, and the creepy atmosphere does nothing to unsettle her. There’s no danger here, not anymore, and she's fine moving slow for now. 

Eventually, they reach the supply van and he sits her down in the back. Alice dangles her legs over the edge of the floor and stares off into the dark. Todd says something about the cops or shock or something and wanders off. She’s happy for the privacy, for a chance to reorient herself. 

She inhales deep, the scent of rain and cool night and the faint tang of blood in the air. The parking lot for loading and unloading is half-full of employee cars. Cars whose owners are very much dead now. She glances around the side of the van at Beacon’s façade. 

She’s not dead. She’s not in STEM anymore. 

 _It’s over._  

Does that mean Ruvik failed? Did something stop him from taking control of Leslie? Someone—presumably Kidman, but maybe Sebastian? Will she ever see Ruvik again? Does she even  _want_  to see him again? Were all her feelings fabricated by STEM, maybe even manipulated by him? 

No… no, of all the unanswered questions she has, that’s not one of them. Everything she felt for him was authentic because she still feels it now. Ruvik is (or was) a bad man, but he never did anything to her, barring threats. That’s probably not a very moral—or healthy—judgement. The Alice before STEM would probably be horrified by after-STEM Alice’s conclusion. She doesn’t much care at this point. 

If STEM did anything for her, it was make her more observant of her surroundings. She hears footsteps approaching over the rain long before she has company. Her hand twitches for a weapon, but she reminds herself that she's safe now. Besides, she doesn't even have any weapons. Todd, a cop, and a paramedic with a kit join her. 

“So what now?” she wonders aloud. 

The cop adjusts his hat. “Well, I’d like to ask you a few questions, ma’am. If you don’t mind?” 

That wasn’t really her question, but she nods anyway. The EMT fusses at her, taking her pulse and blood pressure and shining more lights in her eyes. The officer plows through questions, since most of her answers are “I don’t know” or “I can’t remember”. The paramedic cites shock. Alice is given a business card and instructions to call if anything comes back to. 

The whole time, she thinks of Sebastian. He was a cop—no, a detective. Alice liked him, for the brief moments she knew him. Did he make it out? If he did, is he alright? She has the urge to get up and go on a scavenger hunt for him, but ignores that. She stares at the cop questioning her instead, and wonders how long he would have survived had he been there. 

When the EMT clears her to leave, and the cop says she's free to go but should stay in town, Todd drives her back to her apartment. Kendra meets her on the ground floor and envelopes her in a tight hug. Only then does Alice sigh and relax and cry a little. One of the worst moment in STEM had been thinking that Kendra had been killed in the destruction of Krimson City. 

They go upstairs to their apartment and Alice explains. Or tries to anyway. Because there’s no way she can keep up the whole “shock” thing and someone else  _has_  to know. Even if they think she's crazy. 

Folded up on the couch, drinks and blankets between them, Alice recounts her experiences from start to grim finish. Kendra asks her (more than once) if she’s sure it wasn’t a weird, horrific dream, but Alice is adamant. In the end, Kendra has to believe her. At which point she cries—smearing eyeliner and mascara everywhere—and hugs Alice again. 

When she pulls away she has to take a few moments to collect herself. Alice waits, sipping at her beer and holding Kendra's hand with the other. When she's more herself, Kendra glances at her, wiggles her eyebrows, and grins. 

“So this Ruvik guy…” she starts 

Alice arches an eyebrow in question, taking a long sip to finish off her beer. She wasn't explicit about her relationship with him, because it's hard to describe what it was, but she knows she talked about him a lot. Nothing in so many words as "my crazy, sadistic boyfriend with a god-complex" but Kendra has known her for a long time. 

“He good in bed?” Kendra asks. 

Alice chokes and tries to cover her mouth and nose before any gets on the couch. Her sinuses burn and her eyes water. Through her sputtering, she tries to glare. 

“Ken!” she gasps. 

Kendra throws her head back and cackles with delight. “That good?! I can’t believe the best lay of your life was in an alternate reality.” 

Alice finally has enough air to laugh with her, but she shakes her head to communicate her (false) disapproval. She doesn’t bother explaining that STEM wasn’t an alternate reality, mostly because she’s not sure what STEM was to begin with. Close enough, anyway. 

“You're terrible. I hate you,” Alice lies. 

Kendra isn't at all concerned. “Would you hate me less if I got us some take-out?” 

Alice’s grumbling stomach answers the question for her. They both laugh as Kendra gets to her feet and slides into a pair of rain-boots. The weather hasn’t let up in the hours they’ve been reunited, but the patter against the windows is soothing anyway. Even if it does make her flashback to her death sometimes. 

“You’re walking, right?” Alice asks. 

Kendra shoots her a look as she snatches an umbrella out of the entry closet. 

“Of course. What do you take me for?” she huffs, “You’ll be alright on your own for a little while?” 

Alice nods and gets to her feet, collecting their beer bottles for the recycle bin. “Yeah. STEM was bad, but I can feel how different it is here. I’ll be fine.” 

“Okay, be back in… less than an hour, I hope,” Kendra says. 

If it's the place they usually order from, an hour would be a miracle, especially walking. 

Alice snorts. “Keep dreaming.” 

The door shuts behind her with a quiet click, the deadbolt sliding into place from the outside. Alice smiles to herself as she deposits their bottles. The earlier grogginess has dissipated, leaving her clearheaded, even if the events from STEM still get a bit muddled. She stretches and goes to her bedroom to shower and change into pajamas. 

 _It’s good to be back._  

Half an hour later, there’s a knock at the door. Quick, quiet raps. Alice perks up from the TV show she’s re-watching, surprised. It’s not unlike Kendra to have her arms too full to deal with the lock but… no way is she back yet. Not walking and not from the take-out places they like. It... it couldn't be Mobius, could it? 

No, Mobius has no way of knowing she was in STEM. Unless—Kidman. Kidman was with Mobius. Did she make it out like Alice did? Did she tell them Alice was in there? Are they checking to see if Alice escaped too? 

Wetting her lips, she tiptoes to the door. If it's anyone she doesn't know—especially MIB-looking guys in fancy suits—she's going to call... someone. The cops. Or maybe Kendra. Who knows who's more dangerous, at this point. 

She checks the peephole and gasps. Her fingers can’t work fast enough. Her mouth is dry. She yanks the door open. And then she just stares. 

Guarded expression, careful tone. “You remember, don’t you?” 

Alice blinks. “... Ruvik?” 

“It’s me.” 

She throws her arms around him, a relieved laugh bubbling out of her. It feels strange, him being in Leslie’s body and all. She’s never hugged Leslie before. God, he's thin. She's afraid of breaking him. Ruvik hugs her back and buries his nose in her hair. Still taller than her, for fuck’s sake. 

And wet. Ew. 

“Get inside. Holy shit. You’re soaked.” 

His eyes widen as she yanks him past the threshold, shutting and locking the door again. She spins around and leans against it, staring at him. Despite it being Leslie body, she can tell it’s Ruvik. His back is straight, shoulders back, and he’s got that confident, trademark swagger to his step. 

They just stand there for several moments. Her, amazed that he's alive and here and in Leslie's body. Him... doing whatever he does in that brain of his. 

“A towel, if you don’t mind?” he says at last. 

Alice shakes herself. “Right.” 

She grabs a towel and an extra set of clothes from her bedroom. Ruvik dries himself off while she perches on the back of the couch. When he sheds his clothes, she turns away. It may be Ruvik, but it doesn't feel right looking at him naked. He’s in Leslie body, after all. That's still fresh in her mind. 

“What happened after I kicked the bucket?” she asks into the silence. 

“You're unusually casual about your death for someone who wasn’t ready,” he replies. 

She peeks at him from the corner of her eye. He’s tugging the shirt down, so she deems it safe to look again. The expression on his face says he knows what she was doing, but that's a discussion for another time. Perhaps. Depending. 

“Look, I’m here now, aren’t I? That’s what matters,” she says. 

He stares and somehow, it's unnerving now when it wasn't before. “Yes, it is.” 

“And how did that come to be, exactly?” she asks. 

He scowls but she just beams back at him. Looks like someone wasn’t ready for her to start having questions already. 

 _Silly_ _Ruvik_ _, tricks are for kids. You should know better_ _._  

When his silence drags on, she arches an eyebrow. “Well?” 

He sighs and folds himself onto the couch with as much dignity as he can. There's not much in it—it's an old, squishy couch. Alice swivels and lowers herself onto the cushion next to him, crossing her legs under her. She angles her body to face him and rests her elbow on the back of the couch to prop her head in her head. 

“I told you before, I would be the one to kill you. It was unacceptable… what Kidman did.” 

Alice arranges her features into polite curiosity. “So you’re here to kill me now?” 

He snorts and gives her an impatient look. She presses her lips together to bite back laughter. He doesn't look impressed. 

“No. Stop interrupting me,” he replies. 

She clears her throat and gestures for him to continue, a small smile on her face. He inhales, visibly gathering himself before speaking again, voice quieter. 

“Your last words…” 

He tenses. Alice reaches out with her free hand and places it on his knee. His eyes land on the point of contact, but he doesn’t move away. She takes that as a good sign. 

“I realized I don’t know how to function outside of STEM. The memories are there, but they are… unclear. I decided I wouldn't let Mobius rip my life away from again—not even indirectly through my revenge." 

Interesting, but she doesn't understand where this is going. Ruvik continues at her patient silence. 

"With all the work I still have ahead of me, I’ll have neither the time nor desire to relearn on my own. Nor do I particularly want to be alone any longer.” 

She tilts her head, not daring to hope and yet her chest is still tight. His hand settles over hers on his knee, hands warm and soft and careful as if he expects her to disappear any moment. Despite the tenderness of the gesture, his tone is still businesslike. Have to admire him for continuity. 

“You have already proven yourself to be a—to be capable. And you are—for the most part—tolerable. I would propose that you assist me in my endeavors.” 

Alice can’t respond at first. Her brain is buzzing with a weird, dizzying mix of joy and surprise and trepidation because  _how the fuck are they_ _gonna_ _make this work but who cares._  

Her mouth recalibrates on its own, going without her brain there to guide it. 

“That was a really roundabout way of asking me to date you.” 

He scowls, looking a little put out, but there’s no real heat in it. “Yes, well, I don’t exactly have a well of experience to pull from.” 

Alice laughs, a dopey smile on her face so wide it could split her face. And it does. Or her lip anyway. She almost forgot the shape she went into Beacon in—the alcohol and lack of movement dulling the pain from her injuries. She sweeps at the droplet of blood with her tongue, which seems to distract Ruvik. 

“Yes,” she says. 

“Pardon?” 

“I’ll ‘assist’ you.”


	12. You Done Fucked Up- the (cool) Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The risk he took was calculated, but man is he bad at math.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny story: I have two epilogues written for this story. This one is the serious one.
> 
> The other... may or may not involve puppies and is somewhat crack, but shows more of Ruvik and Alice's personal lives after STEM. Hasn't this whole fic been a little crack, though?
> 
> Let me know if you're interested in reading that one too or your souls are satisfied with this.

Beacon Mental Hospital, hosting a benefit under new administration. A positive kick-off to a transformed facility, free of the corruption and immorality that shadowed its previous incarnation. All proceeds donated to further research of uncommon mental illnesses; all in the best interests of the patients.

What a fucking joke.

Ruben Victoriano, director of a looney bin? Please. Talk about fighting fire with fire; the freak deserves a place right alongside the patients. His own white-padded room, with a designer straightjacket and a gold nameplate over the door for his highness.

Bradley, as the leader of an affiliate company to Mobius, has only ever heard rumors. Ruben Victoriano (supposedly) worked for the megacorporation before pulling some bat-shit crazy stunt that landed him at the very top of their black-list. The kind millionaires like Bradley (though not Bradley himself) pay thousands to “neutralize”.

How the man weaseled out of it is a mystery. Money buys anything, really, and Victoriano comes from  _old_  money, on top of being a “genius” or whatever. Paying himself into safety isn’t impossible, though unlikely. It doesn't make sense for him to stage this outrageous coup now, at any rate. Discrediting Marcelo Jimenez and claiming his papers for himself? Worming his way into the boards to secure his position? Hosting a paparazzi-infested  _benefit_?

One confirmed rumor is that the Victoriano heir has always been an antisocial recluse. Even more so, after that fire fucked him up. From what Bradley’s heard, the man is a horror show—not fit for public physically or mentally, and even Victoriano knows it.

Okay, so money can’t buy  _anything_  (like a new face… or a new dick, for that matter) but also the guy is a sick, sadistic fuck, from what Bradley’s heard.

The stories in that regard are wide and varied and more dubious than anything passed around about the Victoriano family. One thing is for certain though, Ruben Victoriano is fucking insane. It’s not his methods that bother Bradley, because he doesn’t concern himself with gory details like that. It’s not even that he’s in charge of Beacon (previously under Mobius’s umbrella) that pisses him off.

It’s the nature of such a move.

It’s a big, fat, middle finger to Mobius, and Bradley is here to watch the shit hit the fan, like half the other people at this benefit. Rich bastards rubbing elbows, trading barbs and mistresses. Everyone waiting for their chance to rip their host apart. Bradley lives for this shit; he gets bored so easily.

A redhead at the buffet table catches his attention as he’s idling between groups. Sure, he’s here to observe the implications of Victoriano’s sociopolitical move, but he knows how to multitask. It’s not like the maniac’s made an appearance yet (Bradley half expects he won’t show his burnt mug, period) so he might as well keep himself busy. Securing himself a bedmate—or two—for the night is always a fun distraction.

She’s not the tallest woman here, even in her heels, but she’s a damn fine piece of eye-candy. A sheer gray dress with a hip-high slit in the skirt, and a plunging V neckline displaying a decent rack. Bradley wonders if they're natural. If they’re not, they're convincing. He’s handled plenty of both to consider himself more than just a layman.

Her hair is gathered to one side, falling in soft curls over one shoulder and down her back. Around her neck is a silver choker inlaid with sunflowers, metallic petals circumventing smoky jewels at their centers. As Bradley approaches, she plucks a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and turns back to the selection of foods.

“What’s good?” he asks.

“Not sure yet,” she replies, “but bread is always my go-to.”

He glances down the length of her body skeptically. Women—especially the type of women that come to these events—don’t achieve physiques like that by stuffing their faces with bread. She glances at him, light brown eyes bracketed by long, thick lashes and a healthy dose of makeup. An eyebrow quirks as she leans a little and snatches up a mini-cake, the words “eat me” scrawled in icing.

“Dessert before dinner?” he asks. There's only a little sarcasm in his voice, “What a rebel.”

She faces him, licking plush lips as she swallows. What can she do with that pretty mouth, that pink kitten tongue? His dick twitches. Something about her is apart from the other women at this party—and it’s nothing to do with some romantic comedy bullshit.

Her eyes are bright and attentive, but she’s not trying to lead the conversation. She’s not trying to play the “screw you over” game like every other person at this party. She seems more curious than anything, like observing fish in a tank. Maybe it's that detached affect that's drawing him. He loves seeing those types fall apart around his cock.

“Well, I like to end my nights on a savory note. Plus, it goes with the champagne.”

He arches his eyebrows but takes the bait, snatching up one of the mini-cakes. Biting into it, sweetness and just a dash of spice explodes across his tongue. He swallows down a mouthful of champagne to chase it. Huh, she's right.

“And also, my boyfriend isn’t here to tell me not to,” she adds.

She’s watching his expression, but he only nods, waits until his mouth is empty. Then her flashes her the grin that never fails to drop panties. That news is not a deal-breaker. Hell, it’s almost encouragement. A taken woman is only more of a challenge, more of a conquest. He beds them as often as he beds single women, but there’s something better about luring them from their boyfriends and husbands.

“No man should ever say no to you,” he says.

She laughs, full lips pulling back from straight, white teeth. “That’s what I tell him, but he’s a stubborn man. Not that that stops me.”

She shrugs with one shoulder then takes another bite of cake, leaving the conversation open to him.

“Who is this guy, anyway, if he'd say no to you?” Bradley asks.

If he knows that, he’ll have a better idea of what he’s up against. Senator’s wives are easy—bored, unappreciated, often resentful because of those things. Or they're just as bored as he is. Same with almost any other trophy wife/girlfriend. If the boyfriend/husband is attractive or younger, they’re more difficult to sway, but still not impossible.

“Ah, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” the redhead replies.

He shakes his head. This is a room of powerful people—politically, economically, socially. Some of the women in this room have dated A-list celebrities. So have some of the men. The list of people he would disbelieve are short, and of those point-blank impossible.

“I promise I’ll believe you. Just tell me. Whisper it in my ear, if you want.”

He leans in conspiratorially, smirking at the amused expression on her face. Tough, this one, but he has her attention. Most other ladies are giggling and spilling to him by this point. She must have an attractive boyfriend. Or maybe they’re still a young couple. He’s experienced that before—new girlfriends who think it’s normal to be faithful to their boyfriends, and expect it in return.

“I can’t. I need him here to prove it. I don’t even know where he is now.”

She pouts a little, glancing over his shoulder with a little furrow between her brows and her bottom lip pushed out. He’d think she was exaggerating, or at least playing coy, except for the sincerity in her eyes. Her expressions are all genuine. There’s none of the plastic stiffness other rich women have from surgery and implants and Botox.

God, he really wants to see what she’d look like in bed, then. What a fucking ego boost that would be, watching someone moan and scream below him without putting on a show. He loves a porn-star quality performance as much as the next guy, but knowing it’s sincere is even better.

He needs something to work with. “Describe him to me, then. I’ll try to guess."

That makes her perk right up. Likes games, this one. He keeps that in mind for later.

“Well, he’s very intelligent,” she says.

“That shortens the list by a lot,” he replies.

She snorts and grins, hiding it behind a sip of champagne. “He’s very serious, very practical. Almost to a fault, but he’s successful and powerful because of it, so I can’t argue that.”

Her insistence on personality traits is making this difficult. Maybe he's some fat fuck with a fatter wallet, after all. Why is she playing so hard to get then?

“You gotta give me more than that,” he prods, keeping his voice light. “What does he look like?”

The woman seems to consider. “Handsome, though he’s not vain—not about his looks, anyway."

That seems to be some sort of joke, though Bradley doesn’t understand what the punchline is. She keeps going, noting the blank expression on his face.

“He’s got a dark past. I can’t call him a good man, but he’s—right there! Finally!”

A young man about Bradley’s age, maybe older, joins them. He’s just a hair shorter than the woman with her heels on, though the power and confidence he exudes makes him seem taller. His hair is so blond as to be white, neatly parted and combed. His complexion is pale, almost albino, but his eyes are dark. He’s wearing an expensive and impeccable suit, the pocket square matching the woman’s dress.

“You minx, leaving me to the wolves,” the guy grumbles.

Though he sounds annoyed, even Bradley notices that it lacks any real heat. He approaches the redhead and loops a proprietary arm around her waist. She beams and kisses his cheek, which he accepts with a regal tilt of his head. When she pulls away, her thumb swipes the faint imprint of lipstick from his skin, though he doesn’t seem to mind either way. 

“Sorry, not sorry. I was hungry and bored,” she replies.

The tool levels Bradley with an intense look just shy of a glare. “And who is this?”

The woman turns back to Bradley, a curious and somewhat sheepish look on her face. She doesn’t move away from her boyfriend, the first sign that things are spiraling downwards. Bradley tries to tell himself there's still a chance. He just needs to get this fucker out of here. Or maybe try to piss him off and make a fool of himself—that's not too hard with big egos.

The redhead shrugs. “We hadn’t gotten to introductions yet."

He steps forward, taking that moment to cater to formality. “Bradley Haverford, of Haverford Medical Supplies.”

She tilts her head but doesn’t seem especially impressed. Of course, she shouldn’t be—there are plenty of recognizable names in the room.

“I used to work for your company,” she says.

He’s not sure if that is or is not in his favor. He hopes for the latter as he clasps her free hand in his, index finger caressing the inside of her wrist.

“And we are sorely missing your skills,” he replies, “Miss…?”

She shakes her head. “Just Alice.”

Alice introduces herself, which is unexpected. Most guys like her boyfriend don’t go a second without making their presence known to competition. Because that’s definitely what her boyfriend sees Bradley as. He’s not entirely right—in Bradley’s opinion, there’s no competition. Sure, the boyfriend isn’t bad looking but he’s out of his league.

“Alice, a pleasure. And you must be the mysterious boyfriend?”

The man steps forward, spine stiff and straight, shoulders back, mouth set in a severe line. Bradley offers a hand (see,  _I’m_  not the asshole, here) which is accepted with a firm, bordering on painful, grip.

“Ruben Victoriano.”

Bradley’s expression freezes. His hand falls limp, drops to his side. Alice takes a delicate sip of wine, observing with a devilish curve to her lips.  _This_  is Ruben Victoriano?  _The_  Ruben Victoriano? Ruben Victoriano, who was badly burned as a child, leaving him with gruesome, hideous scars?

Victoriano continues, eyes narrowed. “Your company has been very useful to me throughout the years, Mister Haverford.”

Bradley tries not to swallow his own tongue and recovers.

“Well, medical supply companies often are." He shrugs, voice polite but cool. "I’m glad you’re satisfied with our services, Mister Victoriano.”

Alice hums and crosses one arm, pushing her ample breasts up just a fraction and drawing his eye.

“Doctor Victoriano, if you please.”

His tone says he doesn’t give a damn if Bradley pleases or not. In fact, his tone is cold enough to freeze hell over, though Alice doesn’t seem to be of the same opinion. It commands Bradley’s attention, drawing his gaze from Alice’s tits to the tool staring him down.

Now that’s just irritating.

“Doctor, right. Of course. How could I forget? This party is to celebrate your new position, after all, isn’t it?” Bradley replies.

Victoriano narrows his eyes. Alice's expression becomes mildly more interested.

“This is a fundraiser,” he corrects, “not only for the new facility, but especially for our newest division, dedicated to sleep disorders. In fact, this whole event was planned and conceived by Alice.”

Alice arches a delicate eyebrow, but she doesn’t seem offended by Bradley’s faux pas—or if she is, she’s hiding it very well. Well, shit.

“Oh, I’m sorry," Bradley tries to hit his stride again, "You just know how it is sometimes, when people have more money than they know what to do with…”

“I don’t, actually,” Alice replies, “Ruvik doesn’t really attend these sorts of things and I don’t come from money myself.”

She shrugs, not at all ashamed of her status—or previous status, as it were. It explains why she stands out amongst everyone else in the crowd. The other women here are shrewd and manipulative, accustomed to money and status and getting those things, but Ruvik seems to have just picked Alice up off the street. Unless she’s just  _that_  cunning, but Bradley doubts that and really, who would want to spend all that effort to date Ruben— _Ruvik_ _—_ Victoriano?

“Again, my error for assuming. It seems I’m lacking in manners tonight,” Bradley says.

Ruvik hums in agreement (prick) but Alice just waves it off, rolling her eyes.

“In that case, perhaps you should move along before you say something you regreet,” Ruvik says.

Dismissed and unable to recover smoothly, Bradley is forced to bow out, seething on the inside.

It is only later that Bradley spots Alice slip into a little side room alone. And he follows her.

It’s only as he’s backing her against a shelving unit, and he feels a sharp pain in his neck, that he realizes things aren't quite right.

It’s only as he’s hitting the floor, vision blurring, that he sees Ruvik, who snuck up behind him. He helps Alice step over Bradley’s prone form in her long dress. Ruvik draws her in to a deep kiss before Bradley’s vision goes black.

It’s only when he wakes up, hours or maybe days later, his body awake but not responding, that he realizes all the rumors about Ruvik are true.

It’s only as Ruvik is slicing into him, every nerve aware and screaming but unresponsive to his commands, that he realizes he should have kept his distance from Alice.


	13. Epilogue 2 (AKA the one with extra crack)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice always gets her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Aratoamin for being curious. That was all I needed because I'm shameless.
> 
> This is the ridiculous one with OOC fluff. You've been warned.

“ _Ruvik_ _!”_

Alice’s voice is at a pitch it hasn't achieved since STEM. Ruvik jerks away from his current experiment, fingers twitching for the security switch under the edge of the dissection table. Her footsteps echo from the eastern hall—the “safe” one designated for her and her alone. He relaxes, knowing that even under duress she would not escort enemies down this path.

“In my lab,” he calls.

Whatever he’s anticipating, it’s not for her to storm in with a cardboard box in her arms. Her eyes bright in the way they get when violence is imminent. He stares down at her, ignoring his struggling Mobius subject. Alice doesn’t even glance at the bloody, naked man strapped down in his lab. Her sole focus is on Ruvik—which doesn’t bode well for him at the moment.

“What are  _these?_ ” she snaps.

Already aware of what is in the box, he just looks at her. Maybe if he stares long enough, he'll figure out his transgression through sheer will. Alas, all he can discern is that she’s incense and it's his fault. Time to approach this as he would a science experiment.

Objective: understand why Alice looks ready to strap  _him_  to the table.

Hypothesis: it has something to do with what's in the box, but he's not sure how yet.

Procedure? Well, that's impossible when it comes to Alice. Proceeding with caution seems like the best course of action, though.

“I assume you know what dogs are,” he says.

She adjusts her grip on the jittery container, ignoring tiny wet noses and tongues assaulting her fingers. Despite that, she still manages to glare at him like she's planning his murder.

“Not just  _dogs_ , Ruvik.  _Puppies_."

He sighs and sets down his scalpel, knowing this will require his full attention. Work will have to wait a moment. “It doesn’t seem like a pertinent distinction.”

Her eyes widen slightly, horror and outrage warring on her face. Ruvik tilts his head, relieved that the box keeps her from taking a swing at him. That seems to have been the wrong thing to say. He doubts even a trip into STEM could help him now.

“Not a pertinent—for fuck’s sake.” She’s speaking through her teeth now. “Where did you get them?”

A pair of small paws pounce onto her chest, balancing for a moment. The small creature can’t keep its equilibrium, and slides down again, leaving fine trails of red skin with its claws. She ignores it, so Ruvik does as well.

“They were left on the front step this morning. You were still asleep,” he explains, “They’ll make excellent test subjects.”

Alice makes a noise he's never heard before. One of the puppies starts whining and devolves into a high-pitched howl. Another props itself on her chest again. A third starts nibbling on the flesh where her thumb connects to her wrist. The three-pronged attack finally draws her attention.

Ruvik observes, fascinated, the way her eyes soften as they’ve only ever done for Leslie. She blows air at the one trying to climb her chest, wiggles her thumb to dislodge the teething one. The howler stops when its sibling fumbles into it. Her mouth twitches into an adoring smile he’s all too familiar with.

Ah, so that's it.

Conclusion reached.

“This is unacceptable to you,” he muses.

Her eyes flash as she looks back at him. “Damn right! I’m fine with the Mobius employees, and the criminals, but…”

She trails off as she seems to realize the ethical ambiguity of her statement. A flush colors her cheeks but she pins him with a helpless, pleading look. Begging him to understand. Oh, dear god, she’s even tearing up a little. Alice never cries.

There’s a fundamental difference between his test subjects and the animals. At least in her mind. People, especially the people he experiments on, are capable of comparable cruelty and violence. They are also able to protect themselves. Animals—apparently young ones in particular—are vulnerable and blameless. It's that strong protective instinct he exploited when they first met.

Meaning... “Dogs—puppies—are too far."

Her teeth sink into her lip as she nods. Well, that’s one mystery solved. Alice has always had a compassionate, caregiving nature. He can’t believe the puppies took this much thought, honestly.

"Very well. What do you propose we do with them?" he asks. 

Alice hums in thought for a moment, then shrugs. “We'll find them homes—although, I would like to keep one…”

He glances between her and the wriggling contents of the cardboard box. A dog. In their house? That they have to feed and train and take care of? Reading his face, she arches an eyebrow.

“Ru, have you ever had a pet?” she asks, “And no, nothing in STEM counts.”

He mirrors her expression, trying to appear unimpressed. In reality, they both (probably) already know how this conversation is going to end.

“I have not,” he admits.

She grins at him a little. “Dogs are scientifically proven to be healthy for people. They raise our oxytocin levels.”

He can’t help chuckling at that. Alice is a clever woman, a gifted manipulator when she's so inclined. Living together has just allowed her the opportunity to sharpen her skills to get what she wants from him.

“Trying to seduce me with statistics?” he asks.

Her lips curl up into a proper smile. “Is it working?”

He rolls his eyes and turns back to his test subject, who has been watching the entire exchange with horrified confusion. Taking up the scalpel again, Ruvik turns back to Alice and looks her in the eye so she understands he’s serious.

“One,” he says, “with obedience training. Find the rest homes.”

Her smile is blinding as she leans in to kiss him, affectionate and appreciative, warm and soft. One of the puppies sinks its needle-like teeth in the elbow of his coat and tugs. As she pulls away, she dislodges the little beast with a sheepish look.

“Not that one,” he adds.

She rolls her eyes with an amused snort and turns to leave. “I’ll come get you for dinner."

He starts to cut into his subject, ignoring his agonized cries with practiced ease. After a moment, he pauses and glancing at Alice’s retreating back.

Oh god. “Alice.”

She glances at him over her shoulder.

“ _One._ ”

“I heard you the first time,” she huffs.

From the motley litter of five, Alice chooses one. It’s some sort of husky-mix, she says. A tiny gray and tan monstrosity with ice blue eyes. She names it Bethesda. The remaining four, she finds a loving home for as promised.

That home happens to be theirs.

***

“Just reach your normal pace and ignore the machines.”

Alice casts him a flat look, hands resting on the support rails to either side of the treadmill. Ruvik’s making last minute adjustments—tightening the straps of the facemask, smoothing his thumb over the adhesive to the sensors, double checking the calibration on the monitors. Somehow in the middle of this, he finds the time to glance at her expression and snorts.

“I understand it’s not easy, but I need an authentic readout,” he says.

“Fine,” she sighs.

He steps back and she starts up the treadmill, a brisk ten-minute warmup. When her muscles are loose and buzzing for activity, she graduates into a sustainable running speed. To her right, Ruvik sits in a chair observing with silent intensity. He doesn’t have to be there, not when he’s got enough machines monitoring her to put a hospital to shame, but he is. 

Alice won’t pretend to know everything about this man. She’s lived with him for two years now, though, and has literally been inside his mind. It’s fair to say that she knows enough.

For instance, she knows that right now he could be using his limited and valuable time carving science out of the Mobius test subjects in his little lab of horrors. She also knows that she complained the other day about never getting to see him. Even though he said she was exaggerating, he had been frowning thoughtfully at the time. And now he's here.

She also knows that he’s listening to the quick, steady pace of the heart monitor. It’s a habit she’s noticed but never dared mention. At night, when he thinks she’s asleep, his fingers sometimes press to the inside of her wrist. After sex or nightmares, he rests his head on her chest while she runs her fingers through his hair.

It’s no surprise that Ruvik is a little obsessed with her heartbeat. Everyone that he’s ever established a connection with has been taken from him—even Jimenez, the slimy fucker. Alice doesn’t fault him for being protective, even paranoid, about the one positive human connection he’s achieved in decades. Hard proof that she's alive and there with him. It's kind of sweet, when she thinks about it.

Which is why she’s agreed to be his test bunny today. Just this once.

Her eyes keep straying to him—he’s started reviewing a thick stack of papers, but he glances up every once in a while. When he does, his mouth quirks in what could either be encouragement or pleasure.

Because one other thing Alice knows (and has known since STEM) is that Ruvik likes to watch her run.

***

In the near pitch black of their room, Ruvik’s gaze slips to Alice’s slumbering form and lingers. She’s laying on her back, the hem of her loose shirt edged up by her ribs. The blankets are tangled around her legs; half of her lacy pink underwear visible. It’s not all a perfect fantasy, of course. She sports a halo of truly unruly hair and pink imprints along one cheek.

Still, she looks inviting. Warm and comfortable. Peaceful.

Ruvik is tempted to climb into bed again and curl up with her. Wrap her in his arms and bury his face in her hair and doze for another hour or two. Reproach Bethesda when she inevitably lunges onto the bed at 7:30 for a meal and a trip outside.

The dog is still snoozing on the giant cushion by Alice’s side of the bed, as is Tango by the fireplace. The other three—Achille, Shinji, and Lune—are awake and observing him, though not bothered enough to get up. As soon as he leaves the room, Ruvik knows they’ll pile up with their mistress. It’s what they always do when he works late nights in his lab—as much to comfort Alice as to keep an eye on her.

Because, despite their lowered intensity and frequency, Alice’s parasomnia remains. In fact, the night before last was a difficult one. Achille and Tango alerted Ruvik in his lab while the other three tried to keep her from sleep-walking too far. Once he’d gotten her awake, Alice hadn’t gone back to sleep that night. Yesterday, Ruvik finished up work early to keep her company through the night, but now he has to leave...

“Ru?” Alice mumbles suddenly, “What is it?”

Rousing from his thoughts, he glances at his watch and turns back to her. He'll have to leave soon—the results of her tests will be back and he’s eager to take a look.

Not medical work, of course. Alice goes to a proper hospital for that. He accompanies her, of course, to corroborate or correct any of her doctor’s diagnoses. The only reason he’s not her primary physician is because she “couldn’t forgive him if he stuck her with a needle”. No, these results should, with any luck, prove his theory about her parasomnia.

If he’s right, he can finally free her once and for all.

“How long has it been, Alice?” he asks.

She squints and props herself up on one elbow, pushing hair out of her face. “Huh?”

He sits on the edge of the bed, running his fingers down her cheek. “How long has it been since STEM?”

Her yawn devolves into a hum as she rubs at one eye. “What day is it?”

“The seventeenth.”

“About two and a half years,” she says, "I think."

Two and a half years exactly. It’s almost difficult to believe, even though Ruvik has the proof of his success right in front of him. Alice is his—they’ve lived together for almost the same amount of time he’s been walking in Leslie Withers’ body.

This body too, he has made his own. The seizures and migraines that plagued him (for which he was grateful and lucky to have Alice for) have stopped. He’s even modified this body to make it more his own. Nothing could be done about his height, but a proper exercise regime and healthy diet has earned him weight and muscle mass. He’s cut his hair to his preference; his features somewhat altered to simulate what he may have looked like had his body not been damaged and destroyed.

Mobius itself is in shambles, barely a husk of its former self. Their promised demise has allowed Ruvik to swoop in, building his own sort of empire in their wake. A kingdom to protect what's his.

“We should celebrate tonight,” he says.

She reaches up and squeezes his hand, smiling a little.

“I’ll make a reservation at that place you like,” she replies.

She collapses back on the bed and glances at the clock on the nightstand. Tango and Achille wake at the muffled thump, staring at their mistress curiously.

“You’re going to be late,” Alice warns.

“I’d like you to come in today,” he says.

Alice tilts her head to frown at him, nose scrunched up.

“To the office?” she asks.

“Yes, I have something I want to show you.”

She groans and rolls onto her side, burying her face in one of their many pillows. All the dogs perk up at the noise, hopeful that she’ll get up ahead of schedule. They’re sorely mistaken, Ruvik thinks with amusement. His Alice won’t deny even a minute of extra sleep.

“It’s too early,” she whines.

“Sleep another hour and then come in,” he replies.

She sighs and peeks out from beneath her nest of hair. “Fine, but you owe me.”

Ah, that's more like it. He smirks at her, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“Coffee is the price for your cooperation, I believe.”

She snorts but doesn’t deny it, because it's true. It’s a trick he learned from Kendra early on, and he's taken advantage of it ever since.

“I’ll see you in an hour or so, then,” she sighs.

He kisses her cheek one more time before turning to leave, Shinji the only one to bother walking him to the door.

Alice is squinting in that way she does when she has no clue what Ruvik is talking about, but she’s too stubborn to ask questions.

How has he gotten to a point where he can make that distinction? Then again, does it matter? Yesterday morning, Alice took one look at his expression, said “just coffee, I see,” and handed him a mug the way he likes it. No, it doesn’t matter.

What does matter is that she's being difficult.

“Alice, where are you confused?” he asks.

She makes a noise and hunches over the paper in front of her. It’s early, at least for her, and she doesn’t like coming to the office to start. She says it’s because it’s cold and boring and she wouldn't be lying. But Ruvik knows it’s because it reminds her of her father, too.

She sighs. “The part where I went to Beacon once.”

Ruvik inhales, preparing himself to explain it one more time. He should have waited to explain this, but once he finally put all the puzzle pieces together, he wanted to tell her immediately. Despite his time being a precious thing, and his intolerance for incompetence, Alice has managed to secure an unreasonable amount of his patience.

“You went there for brain scans. When the scans proved inconclusive, the doctor kept you for overnight observation. That night, we ran a preliminary test of one of STEM’s early models. Your brain patterns happened to match the feedback the machine gave off.”

Alice rubs at her eye and looks two seconds from giving up, so he rounds the desk and runs a hand through her hair. She exhales and some of the tension leaves her shoulders. Ah, she's still with him. She slides the warm coffee he provided her closer, cupping it in both hands.

“Why did that happen?” she asks.

“Initially because of your natural brainwave pattern. You really did have an unusual case of parasomnia. Even so, it would have faded with time had Jimenez not gotten a look at the data and decide to test your connection to STEM.”

Her brow furrows, and he knows she’s attempting to recall it. They both know it’s futile. Sleep deprivation is a wicked thing that’s blurred her earlier memories. Ruvik doesn’t mind. Her life before him is, in all honesty, inconsequential.

“Right, so he hooked me up to it or something?” she muses.

“Or something,” he replies, “It was an early prototype; an internal malfunction made it ineffective. Jimenez simply assumed you were incompatible with the machine, which is why you didn't remain a test subject.”

She nods slowly, looking like she wants to punch Marcelo even though he’s long dead. Alice is always cranky in the morning. It’s a trait he finds endearing despite her prickly attitude before the caffeine hits her system.

“And then after?” she asks.

He points at readouts on the page in front of her. Multicolored and labeled for her convenience.

“Your brain, without outside interference, stayed synced to STEM’s feedback waves. It’s why your parasomnia persisted. Sometimes your brain correctly interpreted the signals it received—meaning your dreams—and sometimes it didn’t, which explains your other behaviors.”

Alice tilts her head back to look up at his face. Despite his waking her up and dragging her out of the house this morning, she seems to have gotten a decent night of rest.

“And then you got the wireless system, which still interfered with my sleep cycle,” she says.

He nods, brushing her hair back from her features. Her eyelids flutter as she leans into his touch.

“So what now? Can you fix me?” she asks.

“Your brain is too far developed for me to alter its wave pattern like that. However, I can adjust STEM and its output to minimize or even stop it from synchronizing with you,” he replies.

That does manage to make sense to her. She turns her head to kiss his palm and Ruvik’s skin tingles where her lips brush his skin.

“Thank you.”

He spins her chair around—his chair actually, but that doesn’t matter—and draws her into his arms. She hugs him around the middle as he buries his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. When she tilts her head, he meets her lips in a slow, lazy kiss.

They don’t part until the intercom beeps and the secretary informs Ruvik of his appointment. He glares but acknowledges her nonetheless, while Alice takes a long sip of her coffee. When he turns back to her, she arches an eyebrow, gaze travelling over his suit.

“I like this shirt, by the way. It looks good on you,” she says.

He blinks down at her, surprised by the sudden compliment. “You’ve seen me wear it before."

“Yes, but I’ve never told you before. This is one of my favorite shirts on you. I’ve considered stealing it.”

Ruvik’s brow furrows. Ah yes, Alice and her penchant for stealing his clothing. She has any number of excuses for doing so—dirty laundry, being cold, being lazy, the room being dark while dressing. It’s not as though he’s opposed. In fact, he gets a satisfied thrill every time he sees her wandering around in his clothes. However, considering she has a fondness for his  _business_  attire especially…

“Refrain, please. I happen to like this shirt as well,” he tells her.

She pouts, crossing her arms like a petulant child.

“You can always just get it back. We live together, if you haven’t noticed,” she says, “It’s not like I’m going to  _ruin_  them.”

He smirks, bracing his arms on the table on either side of her hips. He’s not as tall as he once was, but it’s enough of a difference that she narrows her eyes.

“That blue shirt—”

“Oh, that was  _one time_!” She’s whining now. “Let it go. That wasn’t even entirely my fault.”

He arches his eyebrows, which makes her flush. Alice always looks fetching when she blushes.

“If you hadn’t been down there in my shirt in the first place…” he points out.

“If you cleaned up after your experiments,” she counters.

It’s an old argument. Not even an argument really, just something they banter about now. The intercom buzzes again and Ruvik growls, scowling at it. Alice giggles and nudges him back, planting a kiss on his cheek as she slips away.

“I’ll make the reservation for seven-thirty,” she says.

“I’ll be home at five.”

They need all that time, considering how many times they’ll be delayed fucking against the nearest surface.

“See you then, darling,” she calls and waves.

She's his, he thinks in the brief privacy after. His.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the dogs names. Bethesda, Tango, Lune, and Shinji should be pretty obvious. Achille was Debussy's first name. It was apparently Achille-Claude Debussy but I didn't want to name the dog Claude.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


End file.
